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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 2 days ago

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Ludos Imperiales 7

Summary: A long awaited discussion is interrupted by a dark visitor.

Content Warnings: Attempted Assassination, Character Death (Unnamed), Mentions of Body Mutilation/Horror.

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

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“You know?” I blurt, head spinning. How long have they known?! I’ve spent all this time agonizing on whether or not that’s a benefit or a hindrance and all the while they’ve said nothing?

Rhysand reaches out to brush a tendril of damp hair off my cheek, while Azriel still keeps his grip on my chin. Both of their touch at the same time makes my knees wobble.

“Of course we do,” Azriel chuckles, tilting his head down an inch so I can look him directly in the eyes. “It is my job to know things.”

The shadow still sitting on my ear makes a sound like a cat purring as it rubs itself against my temple.

“You don’t…” the affection is making my head spin. This all feels like a dream. “Hate me for… this?” I gingerly run a finger along his forearm, careful not to touch the still blistered skin where I’d branded him.

“Or this?” I motion to the collar around his throat. Stealing the key from the guard when he’d given it to me to unchain Cassian earlier had been futile. They’d made sure to search all four of us before leaving the Palace.

“No-” Azriel starts as Rhysand catches my hand before it falls and brings it gingerly to his lips.

My heartbeat is once again very loud in my ears, a blush working its way across my cheeks. I’m suddenly very grateful that the candlelight doesn’t reach far beyond the bathing chambers.

“The brand was me, Darling, don’t keep blaming yourself for that.”

As much as I want this with the two of them, there is a notable absence in the room. “Cassian doesn’t seem to share the sentiment.”

“He’ll come around,” Azriel assures. “He’s just processing.”

“You think he can process that Hybern is my father?” I return. “Most people can’t.”

Azriel lets go of my chin, scarred fingers sliding across my jaw to cup my cheek. I find myself leaning into his touch like a moth to flame, unable to stop myself from indulging in the warmth the floods through my body. For the first time in days the bond doesn’t feel raw or frayed or broken. It’s warm, glowing like the candles in the bathroom.

“You don’t choose the family you’re born into,” Rhysand starts.

“We’re pretty familiar with shitty fathers,” Azriel finishes.

This doesn’t feel real. I swear I’m dreaming!

“And, if we’re going to stop yours, we need to set some ground rules,” Rhysand says, bringing the conversation back to the moment at hand. “You don’t put yourself in harm’s way for us.”

“We will have to find middle ground, Rhysand-”

“Rhys, we’re not having a dinner party, you don’t have to be formal about it.”

“We will have to find middle ground, Rhys, because I’m not ok with putting you in harm's way either. I already have to sit here and watch you fight in the Arena; there is only so much I can take.”

The way Azriel’s eyes suddenly glaze over tells me they’re having a mental sidebar about what to do, since we seem to be at an impasse here.

I’d take the moment to appreciate our new understanding of each other if the creak of one of the floor tiles in the hall didn’t catch my attention instead. Strange, there shouldn’t be any guards patrolling inside…

I incline my head, listening for it again. There are three loose tiles in the hall; I know this because I memorized their placement in order to sneak out into the gardens on the nights both my parents were in the house. One at the end, one under the windows, and one right outside the door. If someone were just checking the hall, I would only hear one. Any more than that, then someone who should not be awake at this hour is coming towards the door.

The second creak sounds just as my mates finish their silent discussion, Rhys’s mouth parting to announce a decision and I fling myself forward and clamp my hand over his mouth. “Someone is coming!”

The words are barely out when the third and final tile makes a noise, right outside my door.

Azriel’s shadow over my ear slithers down to rest on my shoulder with a hiss, writhing in agitation like a snake as it appraises the darkness. Azriel himself is a flurry of shadows as he launches into the corner, where he can grab anything that tries to step into the room.

Someone tests the doorknob to see if it's locked, and Rhys loops an arm around my waist and pulls me behind him with one hand, while the other reaches out and emits a small blast of glittering starlight that blows out all the candles in the bathroom.

He can do that around the gorsian stone?! I know that he’s powerful, but just how much? These chains have stolen the powers of some powerful beings over the years, reduced them to basically human, but he’s still functioning?

The door opens slowly, inch by inch, as if someone is testing to see if it makes any noise. Definitely not Anise then, she would know that it doesn’t.

Rhys backs up until my back is flush against the wall and there’s several feet between himself and the door.

“Smells like death.” I flinch, because that’s not Rhys in my head, but the shadow still perched on my shoulder, whispering in my ear. It can speak?!

One of the staff had closed the hall curtains, leaving nothing but a vague shape in the darkness as something slips silently into my room and shuts the door behind it. In the stillness, there is no mistaking the sound of a blade sliding out of its sheath, but whatever the creature is, it obviously can’t see in the dark. It has no idea Azriel is behind it until one of his shadows lashes out and knocks the blade from its grip.

The creature makes a strange gurgling noise as Azriel pounces, and though I can’t fully see around Rhys, I hear Azriel’s fist make contact with flesh, followed by several heavy thuds.

“It is subdued,” the shadow whispers.

Rhys can either see in the dark, or is telepathically still communicating with Azriel, because he waves his hand and the candles in the bathing chamber light themselves again. There’s just enough light for us to see Azriel kneeling on a male’s chest in the center of my bedchamber. The figure is clothed from head to toe in black, a hood slipping off his temples to reveal a bald head covered in swirling tattoos that converge into a half moon right between his eyebrows. The tattoo is enough to tell me what and who this male is, but so would the stitching across his face that keeps his mouth sewn shut.

I shudder as I step around Rhys, or try to, he keeps an arm out to stop me from approaching, as if he thinks the male might just explode.

“He’s a Raven,” I say softly.

The male’s eyes are so dark they’re almost black, just like Amarantha’s, and they narrow in my direction. He’s either Fae or Elf, but the pointed tips of his ears have been shaved off, the rounded tips held in place with the same gruesome stitches that seal his mouth. Once indicted as a Raven, race and gender are removed from the equation, everyone in the brotherhood is mutilated to fit the same, rigid and ambiguous uniform their Order demands.

“Fill us in, Princess,” Rhys prompts.

“They’re an order of assassins. Usually kids they pick off the street. They undergo rigorous training and body mutilation until the Order shapes them into ambiguous monsters that only know how to kill. The Order was started by my great grandfather, the thought was that they should be able to blend in anywhere, that they would have no defining features, until…” I know the history of them like everyone in the Capitol because it’s part of the school curriculum, but as I recite the information something clicks into place.

Rhys turns just enough to look at me.

“Until my Father became Emperor and the modifications became… gruesome so that they could be identified. He wanted people to know that it was him who set them against their targets.”

“Hybern tried to kill you.” Rhys says flatly. It’s not a question.

Azriel’s teeth flash in a snarl as his knee moves from the assassin’s chest to his throat, but no sound gets past his stitched lips. Only a slight jerk of his bald head indicates that he’s choking against the pressure.

My Father tried to have me killed. Not executed like my Mother, he doesn’t have evidence of that, but murdered.

I liked it better when my knees shook because my mates’ had their hands on me, not because of the icy terror that fills my veins. My Father tried to have me killed.

I must look shaken because Rhys slides his arm around my waist and leads me to the edge of the bed to sit.

“We’re not going to get anything out of him,” Azriel snarls. “So unless you have any last minute requests, I’m killing him and dumping the body in the river.”

“Do not anger the nymphs, they’ll eat you whole,” I say distantly. Today has been the longest day of my life.

Azriel’s shadow brushes gently over my cheek as if to comfort me, but it has stopped speaking for the moment. I’m so tired, I wonder if maybe I imagined it.

“If we kill him, Hybern knows that we’re on to him,” Rhys returns.

This is enough, at least for the moment, for Azriel to remove his knee from the male’s throat, but he doesn’t move off his chest. His shadows bring him the dagger they knocked from the Raven’s hand, the blade jagged and curved in a crescent shape, reaching nearly eight inches. He would have had a hard time driving that directly into my chest, but it would have carved me up like a turkey with little resistance. A shiver runs up my spine; if my mates hadn’t come looking for me… if I had still been in the tub…

“What do you purpose we do with him?” Azriel snarls. “He can’t walk out of here.”

The Raven makes a noise that sounds like a chuckle, as if amused by the situation.

We’re once again caught between a rock and a hard place. If Azriel kills him, then Father will know they were here in the room with me. If they let him go, Father knows they were here with me. We can’t make his death look like an accident either; that will look suspicious, Father will send others to see what kind of security measures I’ve suddenly added to the house.

I take my lower lip between my teeth. What are we supposed to do?

Rhys starts to pace along the length of the bed, trying to plan, agitation evident down the bond. “We’ve clearly hit a sore spot if he’s already trying to kill you.”

Me. Not them. I hit a sore spot. I bet against him and won. I defied him. This isn’t about them at all, this is purely because I threatened his ego.

I glance up at Azriel. If this is about me, then I have to be the one to get us out. “I have to kill him.”

Azriel’s shadow hums approvingly as it nuzzles against my throat, even as its master’s eyes narrow.

“He’s here for me. The only way we get out of this is if I’m the one who beats him.” Father will not see it coming, he has underestimated me my whole life. He thinks I’m an easy target who got lucky.

“This is a game to my Father. One he thinks he can easily win-”

“You have to play the game,” Rhys finishes with a frown. “He’s testing you, trying to gauge where your threat level is.”

“I don’t like it,” Azriel huffs, even as he hauls the male to his feet. The Raven flails, using his elbows and fists to try to free himself, but Azriel holds tight. “It puts you directly in the line of fire.”

Rhys turns to look at me, violet eyes heavy. His shoulders sag, like he’s resigning himself to what he’s about to say.

“No more chances to get on that boat from here,” I quip.

He reaches out to cup my cheek. “I wish things were different. I wish… that it wasn’t impossible choice after impossible choice…”

“But it’s my choice.” That’s why they were in the room in the first place, wasn’t it? “I choose you, all of you, and this. I will do what is necessary. I can live with this choice.”

He leans in, the heat of him enveloping me and I want more than anything to curl into his chest and stay wrapped up in his arms forever. I wish we hadn’t had to meet like this. I wish there wasn’t so much bloodshed and pain leading up to this. But I cannot change it. All I can do is hope that there is a light at the end of the tunnel and moving in this direction will get us all out of here alive. I can play this game for them.

He places a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Then I will find a way to live with it.”

I smirk, just a little as I turn to face the Raven. For the first time in months, I actively reach for my power, letting it pulse steadily through my veins until it can unfurl like a whip from my palm. Azriel’s shadow slithers down my arm to inspect it.

“You’ll have to leave before I do,” I say.

“Not a chance!” Azriel growls.

I draw a breath, making sure my grip is secure, just as I’ve trained to do. The exhaustion of the day and the months of solitude make my grip a little shaky, but I can manage.

“I will have to call for the guards,” I return as I flick the ether of power out and wrap it around the Raven’s waist.

His beady eyes narrow on the tendril of power before jumping to me with a look of pure venom. We were lucky Father hadn’t sent one of the more powerful wielders, this one can’t be more than an acolyte. The thought stings a little; he thinks so little of my powers he sent a student after me.

I suppose I should be grateful, this will probably be the easiest thing he’ll throw at us from this moment forward.

“You can’t be here when they come, and there’s only one way out of this room.”

I get a firm grip on my power, making sure the tether around the Raven’s waist is secure before tugging on it, yanking the male from Azriel’s grip. I’m ashamed to admit that it’s a tremendous effort to fling him against the wall and hold him there. My head pounds under the strain. Goddess am I out of practice! First thing tomorrow, after the Senate meeting, Mother willing we all survive it, I’m getting back into the training field.

The Raven thrashes under my grip like he knows I’m the weak link here.

Azriel’s shadows drift around him like snakes writhing in agitation as he studies my grip.

“My Father has alchemists and mages at his disposal, they will be able to ascertain the time from when I killed him and when the guards took the body away. If there are any gaps, if it looks at all like I waited to call the guards, they will find it.”

He looks torn, bandaged wings sagging behind him. I know they don’t like the idea, there are things that could go wrong, but none of this will work if we don’t start trusting each other to handle our respective duties. Truth be told, I’d rather they be here. I’d rather they know what I’m capable of, but I won’t risk them just for a chance to show off.

“Go, I’ll be alright. We can talk about everything later.”

Rhys nods solemnly.

Azriel’s jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth.

“Believe it or not, I have survived my Father without any interference from you before,” I point out. “I’m not some damsel in distress.”

“Didn’t say you were,” he growls out.

“Then have some faith in me.”

Holding the Raven up this long is really starting to hurt, my muscles cramping from keeping my hand outstretched so long. They need to leave and they need to leave now!

Azriel finally steps close enough to press the Raven’s dagger into my palm, scarred hands wrapping around mine to make sure my grip on it is secure. The move is more intimate than it should be, my heart rate picking up.

“A shadow will stay with you.” The ether rubs against my wrist as it continues to study my grip on my power.

“I’ll be fine,” I promise.

They’re gone quickly, maybe because they know if they linger they will talk themselves out of leaving.

I turn to face the Raven. It’s dagger is cold and heavy in my off hand, but it helps to remind me what my fate could have been tonight. I step closer, hand still splayed out in front of me so my power slams him back hard enough for the plaster to crack. Good, it looks like I’d been in bed and tossed him this direction.

I glance down at the shadowy pet that Azriel left behind. “I don’t suppose you could go ruffle my sheets so it looks like I was sleeping?”

The shadow, much to my delight, moves in a way that looks like a nod before it flies over to my bed and starts yanking the pillows off the top covers. It even goes into the bathroom to start knocking out the candles so there’s no evidence that I wasn’t sleeping during this attack. I’m starting to get attached to the little guy.

I turn my attention back to the Raven, who’s beady eyes narrow in challenge. I can do this. If I don’t, who knows what will happen to my mates.

I break my power into sections, one holding the male in place, a second sharpening it into a giant spike. My hand starts to shake under the strain and I grit my teeth. I can hold it. I can do this. I am not the weak little girl my Father thinks I am. I will not let him win.

The last candle winks out in the bathroom as I pull the spike back and ram it forward so hard the house shutters. And then I start screaming for the guards.

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Hours later, there’s nothing left of the Raven but my cracked wall and a splatter of blood a couple of the staff are still trying to clean. I’m so exhausted I would have left it for the morning, but Anise had heard the commotion and taken charge of the situation before I could even get a word in.

She still hovers. At some point she’d thrown a blanket over my shoulders like she expected me to start shaking over the ordeal. Honestly, after everything these last couple of days, this feels like it’s pretty low on the list of traumatic experiences.

Maybe I will feel the weight of it in the morning. Right now, I just feel exhausted.

“You should stay in another room tonight.” I’m pretty sure she hasn’t stopped speaking since she came running in to check on me, but I honestly didn’t hear half of it. “Guards should be posted.”

“No.”

She stops pacing long enough to look at me like she thinks I’ve grown a second head. “Don’t you no me! You were attacked-”

“By a Raven,” I retort.

She knows the history of them as well as I do, and there have only been a handful of other times in my life that I’ve seen her be shocked into silence as she is now.

“There will be no more attacks tonight.” There are few things I know for certain about my Father, but I know for a fact he never strikes the same way twice. Tonight was a test. The next will be worse.

Anise reaches out for my hands. “Is this because of those males-”

“Not tonight, Anise.” I don’t have the energy to fight her tonight. I just want to get some sleep. “Ladies, please return to your rooms. The rest of the cleanup can be dealt with in the morning.”

The staff sends me sympathetic looks as they pack up their things, but Anise doesn’t budge.

“You are scaring me, child,” she whispers.

Her disapproval is sharp as a knife, but I can’t cave now. “I am fine, Anise.”

“That’s what your mother used to say!” She hisses.

I flinch despite myself. Azriel’s shadow is back to its perch at my ear and it hisses softly beneath my hair.

“This will blow over,” I insist, even though I know it's a lie. Tomorrow I will have to consider putting her on that boat I was looking at and getting her out of here before Father realizes she can be used against me. But it is a problem for tomorrow. There is nothing else left in me tonight.

“If you so insist on playing games with your life, fine! But don’t say I didn’t warn you that this is a mistake!” She shouts as she storms out.

It couldn’t have been easy for her, caring for me after we lost my Mother. I actively refused her help then too. But this is different. I am different. Eventually I will find a way to show her.

My bed looks as inviting as a prison cell. I’d sooner sleep on the floor than try to sleep here tonight, despite my exhaustion. My body moves on its own accord, following an instinct that feels like it grows more and more every day. Before I realize what I’m doing, I find myself standing in the kitchen cellar, hand on the lock of the secret door.

Azriel’s shadow hisses approvingly.

I have thought about enough today; jumped through enough hoops. My brain feels heavy in my skull. I will weigh the consequences of this tomorrow, as with everything else. I turn the lock and slip through the tunnel without bringing a light.

I wouldn’t have needed one anyway. Azriel left the door on his end open, soft light spilling down the tunnel. He sits on top of the altar, sharpening what looked like a knife he’d swiped from the kitchen.

Rhys paces behind him until I’m close enough for them to hear me coming, by the time I reach the doorway, they’re on me. A new shadow roves over my skin, searching for injuries. One of their hands brushes my hair out of my face, checking for injuries. The other asks if I’m ok and all I can do is yawn.

Sleep pulls at the edges of my vision. My body suddenly very heavy. “Can I sleep here tonight? I don’t want to be alone.” The words come out without conscious thought. They could leave me on the floor and I’d take it, as long as I don’t have to keep fighting to keep my eyes open.

Everything shifts and spins as Rhys easily, and quickly, sweeps me up into his arms, holding me tight against his chest. He’s warm and the jasmine and citrus scent of him is soothing. My head falls onto his shoulder like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Azriel shuts the trap door behind us as he follows us into the adjoining room. There are enough rooms in the Guest Wing for them to sleep separately, but someone managed to shove three beds into one. Not sure if that was the guard’s or them.

I have enough presence of mind to note that Cassian is awake in his bed, bandaged thigh propped up on some pillows before Rhys sets me down in the center of what I can only assume is his bed, because the sheets smell faintly of him.

“Rest-” he moves like he might leave me and it’s the first real rush of panic I feel all night as I grab for his hand before he can pull away.

“Please stay.” The bed isn’t big by any means but it feels like I’m swimming in nothing but open water, with nothing to shield me from whatever dangers might come if I fall asleep now. It’s all coming in in a rush and if I have to lay here and think about it, it’ll consume me.

His features soften as he gives my hand a squeeze and slides in under the covers next to me. I don’t have to try and find Azriel, because he squeezes in behind me. He can’t be comfortable, this bed is barely big enough for two, and his wings are still healing. Yet he gives no complaint, just tentatively slides his arm around my waist.

“Is this ok?” His breath is warm against my neck, the caress not unlike the ones his shadows have been giving me.

Exhaustion threatens to pull me under as the panic begins to ebb. This is much better.

“You’re safe,” Rhys whispers.

I intertwine my fingers with the ones Azriel has resting over my stomach. There are so many things I want to say, so many things we still need to talk about. I have questions and concerns and tomorrow is a promise of threats we need to be prepared to deal with. But it can wait until morning.

“Thank you,” I murmur to both of them, voice thick as sleep begins to overtake me.

Azriel places a very gentle kiss on the back of my head.

It takes moments for me to start drifting, even if I wasn’t exhausted, their combined presence is enough to make the bond and my body relax more than I ever have. Just as I start to go under, in a very hesitant voice, I hear Cassian ask, “Is she ok?”

The bond between us, broken as it is, swells just a little. Just enough to make me hope the others were right and he might eventually come around, but that too, will be something to deal with tomorrow.

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Author's Note: Sorry for the slight delay, I've been a little under the weather! Hoping to be back on schedule now. :) As always, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Tag List: @sirenpearldust, @saltedcoffeescotch, @littlemissfix-itfic, @waka-babe, @raisam,

@anainkandpaper, @rafeecameronsbitch, @whothehelliskayleigh, @lifetobeareader, @blimpintime,

@hjgdhghoe, @krowiathemythologynerd, @urfunnyvalentin3, @mack234-blog1, @kissesfromnovalie

@marrass, @lia-h-r, @celestialzdiviner, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @tenshis-cake,

@of-outerspace, @erencvlt, @corvusmorte, @lindsayjoy444, @raccoonworld,

@byteme05 , @art1012 , @the-tummo , @kiwi-mothball, @onthewaytotimbuktu

#rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #azriel x reader #Cassian x reader #poly!bat boys x reader #gladiator!bat boys #gladiator!bat boys x reader #gladiator!rhys #gladiator!azriel #gladiator!cassian #princess!reader #acotar fanfic #acotar au #gladiator fic #gladiator au #my writing #my fanfic #my series

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captainclickycat · 3 days ago

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Whoops turns out I have Further Thoughts on this.

So, here's the thing. We could argue a lot about whether or not characters in horror films make stupid decisions and how it depends on the individual film and what have you all day long. And I'm sure we could come up with a few examples on either side of the argument.

But I think there's a broader point here which is that when people say "what if there was a horror movie that featured a convenient and straightforward way for the characters to get out of trouble without making any sacrifices along the way, so they did that and were fine, the end", and especially when they present this as some kind of refreshing new take on the genre...

Well, aside from the fact that this would make for a very boring and disappointing story for anyone who actually wanted to watch a horror film, it has the same energy as those people who are presented with moral dilemmas as a thought exercise and get fixated on "what if there was a way to stop the trolley and save all six people" "what if you could replace the Omelas kid with a robot" and so on. It's a copout, and it really does come off more like they're balking at the idea that suffering is sometimes unavoidable, that sometimes there are no easy answers and any decision you make comes at a cost.

It reminds me of this other post that was going round a decade or so ago, where the title was something like "horror movies for our generation" and the gist of the whole thing was essentially "if millennials were in a horror movie scenario we'd be able to fix everything and save ourselves straight away because we're so smart and progressive and have the best resources!" (Which to add a bit of extra context was clearly pushing back against a lot of the "millennials are stupid children who don't know how to do anything" think piece discourse that was floating around at the time) and a lot of people in the notes (possibly even including me, at the time) going "omg I need this!! I'd watch the shit out of this!!" which, when you think about it, is really weird when you acknowledge that the scenarios being described were essentially just "what if something that claimed to be a horror story actually just had no plot."

The idea of a horror story where the characters make sensible, realistic, understandable decisions is potentially a great premise (and again, there are plenty of existing horror stories that already meet that criteria.) Crucially, though, that can't be enough to get them out of trouble, at least not instantaneously.

If you could avoid getting lost in the scary woods just by using your trusty functioning gps tracker, there would be no story. So in an actual horror story, the gps wouldn't work, or it would be hijacked by some sinister entity and end up landing the characters right back where they started, or lead them further into danger. The characters happen to have the exact right combination of personalities and skillsets to instantly defeat the monster and go home? Well, first of all that's just dumb luck, and second of all that can't work right away either. There would be a different monster that they can't defeat so easily, or they simply don't have enough information or opportunity for most of the story to be able to actually use their collective skills against it. You managed to evade the killer and get out of the creepy log cabin unharmed? Congratulations. Your best friend is still in there, though, and they might be injured. Are you comfortable leaving them behind and hoping they can fend for themself while you get away? What if it's your child? Sometimes the "stupid" decision is the one you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you didn't make.

I'm going to give the "cozy romance" person props because at least they're honest about the fact that they don't actually want a horror story, and at least the story they're proposing would actually have a plot, just not a horror one. I can see where their thought process was going; there is something cool about the idea of a secret secondary plot going on in the background that the protagonist managed to narrowly avoid, that we can put the pieces together about if we pay close enough attention. (It's not the best example, there are undoubtedly better ones, but it reminds me a bit of Shaun of the Dead where we get these hints that there's a doppelgänger squad running around in the background, and it seems like just a one-off joke until one of them shows up at the end with the military in tow.)

But the thing about that example and a lot of the other ones is that there's eventually a payoff. Ultimately it does affect the protagonists in some way, even if it's sometimes a subtle way. And there's something sort of weird, and just a little jarring, about the idea of reading a story where you're sort of vaguely aware that horrible things are happening to some poor bastard in the background, and your only takeaway from that is supposed to be "oh well, sucks to be them. Let's continue to enjoy watching these Sensible people kiss! Yay!" Apart from maybe being a cool sort of easter egg, what exactly is the point of this subplot, besides imparting the profoundly unsatisfying message of "you can easily avoid danger and have a wonderful life if you're just smart and sensible enough!" when that's so often and so tragically untrue in real life.

And that's why I feel like this would be a much better premise if the horror eventually caught up with the protagonist. Because sorry folks, but escaping the genre unscathed is too easy and too unsatisfying. It has to at least be a challenge, or there's no story worth reading.

You can't just replace the Omelas kid with a robot.

people are so mean about horror movie victims like. sorry but if i had gone to a cabin in the woods with my friends as a teenager you couldn't have stopped us from reading aloud from the evil tome. how were they supposed to know the ancient curse was real they're like 17

#this is long as fuck #but I had fun writing it #so

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ayumigotabittoolonely · 2 days ago

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Nerd!Gojo x Nerd!You

Nerdjo x nerd reader!

Part 1 no next part sorry I lost the motivation 😔 and lost most of my works

♡Gojo, the paranoid investigator.He is now on a mission to prove you’re human.He starts stalking (observing is the word he prefers) you, noting down every tiny habit.But every time you catch him staring, you don’t call him out.You just stare back. Unblinking. Unfazed.His brain short-circuits. His soul leaves his body. Suguru finds him sitting in a corner later, mumbling, “She’s not real… she’s not real…”

♡Gojo, the humbled flirt.He’s never failed at flirting before. Ever. So when he dramatically tells you, “I’d bring the moon to you if I could.”He expects something a scoff, an eyeroll, a blush. Instead, you say, “That’s scientifically impossible.” The way you deadpan it makes him rethink his entire existence.Suguru and Shoko witness this and nearly die laughing.

♡Gojo, the desperate competitor.He stays up all night, studying harder than he ever has in his entire life, just to beat you in the rankings. The results come out. You still top. He’s second. But the worst part? You don’t even react. No smile, no satisfaction, no nothing. He’s not mad that he lost he’s mad that you didn’t care. He dramatically flops onto Suguru’s shoulder. “She’s a machine, man… I’m up against a machine…”

♡Gojo, the secret romantic.No one knows, but he loves romance novels. It’s his guilty pleasure.One day, he’s in the library, nose deep in one, when you suddenly sit next to him.He panics. He immediately slams the book shut.You glance at the cover. You say nothing.You just… nod slightly and continue reading your own book.For some reason, that’s way worse than if you had teased him.

♡Gojo, the horror movie victim.He once fell asleep in the library and woke up at 3 AM. Everything is dark. Silent. He feels like he’s in a horror movie.Then he sees you. Sitting at a table, reading, like some paranormal entity that never moves.He has never known fear like this before.He contemplates running, but his legs don’t work.He watches in terror as you slowly… turn the page of your book.He passes out.

♡Gojo, the human experiment conspiracist.He is convinced now. You are not normal. You are not real.He asks Shoko to run a “human test” to confirm.

She plays along and casually tells you, “Hey, mind giving me a blood sample?”Gojo watches you for any sign of panic.You blink. “No.” And walk away.

He gasps. He screams.

“SHE DIDN’T EVEN ASK WHY. SUGURU, SHE DIDN’T EVEN ASK WHY.”

♡Gojo, the fool in denial. He refuses to admit he finds you interesting.

“I don’t like her, okay? I just wanna know more about my rival.”

Suguru and Shoko exchange looks. “Sure.”

“I MEAN IT.”

“Mhm. Sure. Do your homework.”

He storms off in frustration.

♡Gojo, the dramatic love announcer. One day, out of nowhere, he slams his hands on the lunch table, eyes wide with revelation.

“I THINK I FOUND MY MATCH.”

Suguru and Shoko don’t even look up. “Yeah, we know.”

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. SHE’S—”

“Yeah, yeah. Do your homework, Gojo.”

He stares at them in betrayal. They’re supposed to be shocked.

He’s suffering, and they don’t even care.

♡Gojo, the haunted. One day, he catches you staring at him.His heart stops. His brain malfunctions.You just tilt your head slightly, as if analyzing him.And then you go back to your book.That moment haunts him to this day.

♡Gojo, the theorist.He starts developing wild theories.Maybe you’re a spy. Maybe you’re a hacker. Maybe you’re an escaped AI prototype from a secret lab.

Suguru literally smacks the back of his head. “Shut up and focus on your work.”

♡Gojo, the secret simp.He doesn’t even realize he’s simping for you.One time, someone called you boring for always studying.

Without hesitation, Gojo fired back, “At least she exists. You just stand around judging people who do.”

The entire room went silent.

He immediately realized what he just said and pretended to choke on air.

♡Gojo, the needy puppy.When he wants something from you, his voice turns softer.

“Show it to me please… send it to me, Y/nnnn.”

He stretches your name out like a whiny kid.

Suguru stares at him in disgust.

♡Gojo, the unshakable, now very shaken.His ultimate goal? Make you react.

First, he starts leaving anonymous cute notes.

You glance at them for two seconds, then toss them in the trash.

His heart shatters.

Then, he tries challenging you. “Bet you can’t solve this.”

You solve it in seconds. He gasps. He didn’t even know the problem had an answer. (He made the question)

As a final resort, he sends you a fake love letter, thinking you’ll finally get flustered.

You read it and say, “It’s technically impossible to climb Everest in three minutes for a girl.”

He wants to scream.

♡Gojo, the ignored.He gets petty. Tries ignoring you for three hours to make you notice his absence.You don’tyHe snaps.

“Missed me?”

You blink. “Oh, I didn’t even know you were here today.”

♡That one physically hurt.

♡ Gojo, the fool who fell.He’s never met someone like you.You challenge him in a way no one ever has.He hates it. He loves it.He’s completely doomed.

@syrooo @hel1nn @ourfinalisation @dekusdante @naomigojo

140 notes · View notes

errriiie · 3 days ago

Text

The last practice before nationals

poly!yellowjackets x fem!reader minors DNI, all characters are 18 y.o

TW: smut, gangbang extra tags: porn with plot, praising, bodyworship, sharing is caring, fingering (r! receiving), oral (r! receiving), oral (r! giving), little bit of spanking word count: 5.1k not proofread english is not writer's first language! you've always been so nice and sweet to Yellowjackets, the one and only soccer team in your school, Wiskayok High. But you also were naive and innocent enough to constantly overlook the fact that every single girl on the team wanted your attention. And when, the last day before their nationals, they finally decided to make things clear between you and them.

When Coach Martinez first introduced you to the girls, they weren't too impressed. Average hair, average eyes, average height. Nothing special or anything to look at more than usual. You weren't even, roughly speaking, a full-fledged part of the team. At least that's what Taissa said. She was always like that - confident and sure of her opinions, even if they were somewhat offensive.

But you didn't mind, and even agreed. You were just an equipment manager, and you only became one because your mother and father were very close with Coach Martinez and asked him to find you a place out of old friendship. Of course, the coach made up a different story for everyone about how you came to be on the team - but every time you remembered the truth of your presence here, you wondered if you had the right to wear your signature yellow and blue bomber jacket. You felt ashamed, even though you didn't act like someone who got in because they got a pass. You were responsible, punctual, but you didn’t forget about empathy and responsiveness when communicating with girls. Over time, you began to be noticed by more than just Misty Quigley, who shared the same position with you.

Misty Quigley herself wasn’t too bad. Well, she was… weird. But you decided that everyone had their own cockroaches in their heads and she was just trying to make friends this way.

"You know, if we ever run out of food, I’ve always wondered what human flesh tastes like. I mean, they say it’s like pork, right? Maybe we should start taking notes just in case." Misty once said while you were cleaning up the cones after practice. You looked at her with wide eyes, full of confusion.

"Excuse me? Misty, this is a little weird…" You awkwardly continued to do your job, while Misty burned a hole in you with her gaze. Misty tilts her head slightly, her expression shifting from playful to earnest.

"Oh, come on! I was just joking… mostly. But think about it—survival is all about adapting, right? It’s just a thought experiment! Besides, we’ve got to keep our spirits up somehow. Want to talk about your favorite horror movie instead? I promise I won’t suggest cannibalism this time!”

But Misty didn’t always say such creepy things. She could talk about history, especially about Roman emperors, about her experience in first aid and medicine in general, about her interests, of which there were quite a few, but no one except you, apparently, wanted to listen to her. You didn’t understand the reasons and were patient with her. Misty immediately began to appreciate this - she did not throw away potential loved ones. Then Natalie Scatorccio appeared. Natalie did not have much experience with love, including the manifestation of care towards her. You didn't know anything about her, except that she lived in a van and was an extremely good and promising soccer player. But the more Misty shared the good news about your "endless love and care", trying to brag that she had such a tasty morsel and not the rest of the team, Nat couldn't help but become interested in you. People who lack love often don't quite realize how much they subconsciously want to find it.

She caught you after practice once and started talking to you. Nat herself didn't understand why she wanted to come back to you more and more every day - was it your manner of speech or how brightly you smiled at her after silly stories? She wanted to blush under your gentle gaze, and her heart beat strangely when you waved at her after she made a good pass to the other team members. But of course it wasn't always like that. The more attached she became to you, the more she focused on looking into your unexpectedly deep eyes, rather than at the ball.

"Natalie, don't you want to start playing properly? What are you constantly distracted by?" Lottie narrows her eyes when Natalie refuses to pass the ball to her and tries to dribble the ball to the goal herself, but hits the wall.

"Forget it, Lots. I'm just having a bad day." Natalie waved it off. It was odd that for someone having a bad day, she was smiling so stubbornly and persistently in the wrong direction. Lottie couldn't help but realize that she was looking at you. Perhaps you needed to have a heart-to-heart talk.

So, Charlotte Matthews quickly became next.

After practice, she caught you doing your job as you were supposed to, and called you out on it. She was annoyed, but more curious about your relationship with Natalie. You were blushing and apologetic, and it was hard to deny that you weren't to blame for Nat's deteriorating performance.

And then Lottie discovered that your shy face was extremely hard to get out of her head. Inadvertently, you began to talk after and before practice, Lottie sharing some details about upcoming parties at her house and inviting you. You, of course, refused. Your parents expected you to be decent, and Lottie didn't like rejection and didn't know what rejection was, being a rich girl. So she made it her goal to get you at least once. Or twice. So trying to get under your skin, subtly courting you, and trying to get through to your difficult parents was already routine. Including giving expensive gifts.

"Tai, have you seen the new hair clip in Y/N's hair? Those things cost a lot of money, I tell you, I saw it in the window of that expensive jewelry store." Vanessa was amazed at the new accessory you now had.

"I didn't really pay attention to it, to be honest. What do you… mean? Do you want one like that? I didn't think it was your style." Taissa chuckled, and Van rolled her eyes.

"Haha, very funny, but that's not what I mean… Hey, Lottie! Does Y/N have a rich mommy and daddy like yours?"

Lottie, passing by, chuckled, clearly filled with pride. "Not really. That was my gift. Y/N is very nice, you know. You shouldn't have doubted her, Taissa."

Then Taissa Turner and Vanessa Palmer appeared. They were already in a relationship and were amazed to see how quickly you changed the team's attitude for the better. And yet, from the very beginning, you were a black sheep for Taissa. Van, however, did not treat you with great disdain. She preferred to give people a chance to prove themselves first, and only then draw her own conclusions. However, they quickly liked you. Taissa was surprised that you had previously attended law and jurisprudence classes, and these topics interested her greatly. Van was pleasantly pleased with your taste in films and comics. You complemented their couple with something that they could not complement each other with on their own, after all, no relationship can simply be perfect. It was a matter of time before they both wanted your attention more than was possible. Van often invited you to her home to read or watch something, and Taissa loved to discuss social issues with you. You turned out to be more than either of them could have thought.

"Tai, I'm sorry, but I've already taken up Y/N's time for the evening with myself." Van smiled tenderly at Taissa.

Taissa raised an eyebrow in surprise, seemingly hoping for something. "Damn. How did you manage to come to an agreement with her faster than me? Maybe you'll take me with you?" she said with awkward hope. "Of course, I don't understand a damn thing about your conversations, but still…"

"No way, babe. You'll steal her attention again." Van shook her head.

"Why do I keep hearing everyone talking about Y/N from every corner of the room?" Jackie folded her arms in displeasure as she found herself next to the couple. "I understand that she's new and all that… but what's so unique about her? I swear, we won't get to nationals like this."

Jackie Taylor was annoyed by your popularity within the Yellowjackets. She could see the effect you had on the girls - they were going crazy trying to get a piece of you. She wasn't interested in you at all, but she had a feeling that if she didn't get a little bit closer, they would dethrone her and make you the team captain and even make you their mascot. She had to do something, and fast.

One day, Jackie stayed with you after practice, kindly offering to help you clean up the equipment. When you both walked into the warehouse, she almost pinned you against the wall, demanding answers to her questions.

"Y/N, I can see something's going on. I understand that you want to be friends with everyone, sure, but… we're trying really hard to get to nationals. And you're being way too… outgoing, you know? You need to stop. For the good of our team, as captain, I'm asking you to…"

"Your hair looks great today. Even after playing so hard." You blurted out, unable to contain your genuine respect. "Oh. Sorry. Keep going."

Jackie froze, her combative attitude seeming to completely falter. "You… you think so? Finally, someone sees how much I work on this hair, trying to get it just right every morning! I use powder and hairspray literally all the time, and no one has even bothered to compliment me… until you, of course."

Jackie took pity on you after that. Not when you were willing to spend hours shopping for clothes with her, stealing your clothes and trying on what she told you to try on, making you her model. No one had ever shown such steely restraint with Jackie Taylor, and every time she put on your makeup, it was so hard for her to resist the pounding of her heart and the strange desire to cover your lips with hers. But there was a catch to being with Jackie. The amount of time you spent together didn't sit well with Shauna Shipman. She was the only one who showed no interest in you at all. She didn't care about you, and that was surprising. She never, not once, approached you. You doubted she even knew your name, although considering Jackie told her everything, your name was the only thing she knew about you.

And the fact that you were a real suck-up. That's what she called you when she decided to have it out with you.

"What do you have with Jackie? Do you think I can't see how you're trying to pull the wool over her and everyone else's eyes?" Shauna narrows her eyes, looming over you. "What is it about you? Are you such a good suck-up?"

You felt hurt, but even more so, you felt a seething injustice. "I don't know what you're talking about, Shauna, I was just trying to be friends with everyone. It's not my fault they saw something in me."

Shauna snorted, unsure of what to do with you. "Well. Fine. Just stay away from Jackie, okay? And you'll be fine." Shauna had already turned away from you, about to leave. She adjusted her backpack, but a book fell out. You quickly picked it up.

"You dropped…" You looked at the cover, sighing in surprise. "Pride and Prejudice? That's my favorite book!" You exclaimed, surprising Shauna. She rolled her eyes, simply taking it from you, pretending not to care, but in reality, she was even a little impressed. You were left standing in the hallway, not quite sure what you did wrong.

And then you were surprised when Shauna came to you wanting to discuss the book, as if nothing had happened. Perhaps she was so eager to discuss her interests with someone that she decided to choose the worst option of all - you (Jackie, as expected, did not like reading books at all). You liked to read in your spare time, and Shauna was pleased that you had read a lot of female writers from the 18th and 19th centuries. She sometimes shared her thoughts on them with you, but the main thing was that at one point she made you a playlist of songs named after you. You were flattered and too busy enjoying the gift to notice how much Shauna blushed as she tried to hold your hand.

You didn't even know it would be like this. It seemed like almost all the girls on the team were literally tearing you apart. You'd never received so many gifts, compliments, and, it seemed, hints? Of course, you were pleased. You were a girl, after all. And you suddenly had little free time. Sometimes you spent time with two or even three girls at once a day. Of course, sometimes this led to conflicts between them, but they never dragged you into it. You were untouchable.

But you didn't expect that they would all decide to fix it in one day.

Despite everything, training for Nationals continued. Luckily, the Yellow Jackets team still managed to get their game together and win the filtration game that determined their participation in the competition. Everyone, of course, was incredibly happy. As were you for your favorite team.

There was just one thing. Your parents forbade you to fly with them. You begged as much as you could, but they were adamant. They wanted you to stay home and use your free time from your team to good use, studying and preparing for college. You shed so many tears in front of them, almost begging, but nothing worked. Sometimes you wanted to curse your parents.

Tomorrow, everyone was supposed to fly to Nationals. You entered the locker room, terribly dejected. You were immediately noticed, and the girls were insanely worried. Lately, all of them had been very attentive to you.

"You don't look well, Y/N," Natalie said, her smile from earlier quickly fading.

"Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Maybe a stomach ache?" Misty jumped up to you as if your life depended on it.

"Get away from her, Misty. Y/N might need some space." Vanessa shook her head, and was just as concerned about you.

"I-it's okay…" you sniffed. "It's just… I couldn't convince them. I did everything I could, I begged as hard as I could, and they still refused me. You… you'll have to celebrate your victory at the nationals without me." your eyes sadly looked around at everyone. The shared sadness touched every girl present.

"Y/N… I'm so sorry." Lottie took your hands in hers, looking at you sadly, but Jackie quickly jumped up to her.

"How so? Do they not care at all that you want to fly with us?" she snorts, angry at your family. Being spoiled by her own parents, she did not understand this attitude, especially towards you.

"At least you will be here when we return." Taissa tried to find the positives, although she was disappointed too.

"It does not make much sense, she will not be able to share the joy of us taking the first place in the moment." Shauna said, shaking her head. There was silence between all of you. You were so upset that you didn't even notice how all the girls were looking at each other meaningfully and nodding silently. Suddenly Lottie ran a gentle hand down your cheek, took your chin.

"Don't be so upset, Y/N," Lottie said softly, looking soothingly into your eyes. "You know… in all this time that you've been part of our team, we've grown attached to you. You've always been so kind to us. I think we can come to an agreement and find a way to thank you properly."

You were very embarrassed, and suddenly you felt a little awkward. "I was just being myself, you don't have to do anything for me." You, of course, felt pleased. But you were surprised when you felt hands behind you, and out of the corner of your eye you could see blonde strands of hair, and then you heard the familiar voice of Nat, who decided to come up to you from behind.

"Don't be such a shy princess. Why don't you let us comfort you?" she almost purrs in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. It felt… oddly pleasant, like a wave of excitement had washed over you.

"I, um… I don't know… how are you going to do that?" you ask. You can already see and feel Misty wrap her arms around your right hand, stroking it, looking at you in awe.

"You see, Y/N, you have some kind of influence over all of us." Lottie continues. Jackie glares at Matthews, apparently annoyed that Lottie is in charge. While she's busy burning a jealous hole in someone else's body, Shauna approaches you, her hands stroking your neck, and you shiver, vaguely aware of where this is all heading.

"We feel an irresistible… attraction to you. It's hard for us to share you between us. Haven't you noticed how hard we try to please you?" Lottie asks, genuinely concerned. "And you still wouldn't give in to any of us. We tried to figure out what you wanted, but we failed every time. So we thought you'd have to try each one before you figured out which one of us you wanted to be with."

Your brain was already running out, and now that Van's hand was stubbornly touching your thigh, and Taissa was holding your waist, whispering something in your ear, you completely stopped thinking. You were surrounded by a crowd of girls with whom you spent all your free time so happily, and they were trying to get you all the time. Was it all of them? Each of them wanted you to be their girlfriend? These thoughts left you shocked and you didn't even know how close or far from the truth it was. You, of course, dreamed about them. About each of them at least once, though about some more than others. But for you it was not serious, you did nothing! Did they really want it that much?

You yourself do not notice how you let out a quiet sigh when Shauna kisses your neck. She does it roughly, as if she is having difficulty containing the desire that is accumulating in her. Shauna is silent, examining, analyzing and suppressing in herself, and then explodes like a time bomb. And now she wants to explode at any moment.

Misty's hand undoes the button of your pants in irritation, and Van and Taissa pull them down. You are brought back to reality, and you feel panicked. You were definitely not prepared for being undressed.

"W-wait, there's no need to go anywhere-" you break off with a groan. Nat, still standing and supporting you from behind, bites your ear, licks it, makes your sensitive earlobe wet. You sigh at the newness of this strange, disorienting sensation.

"Don't worry, sweet thing. Everything is going to be just fine." Natalie purrs, and you can't tell if she's stoned or not. Your pants are thrown to the floor. And then your panties. You are naked for all the girls, and they are looking at you so mesmerized, like this is the best thing they've ever seen in their lives. Even Jackie and Lottie, standing behind you, are watching you in awe.

This time, Van is first. Her tongue touches your already wet cunt, and she circles it, tasting you. You moan, and Natalie tugs your hair a little, exposing more of your neck. Taissa gives you a couple of loud slaps on your ass, interested in seeing your reaction. You shudder and your hips jerk, because you like it. Misty's hand goes under your shirt and gropes your breasts, pulling your nipples almost painfully, while Shauna leaves wet marks on your collarbone from her mouth, wanting to leave marks on you that will definitely last until their collective return from Nationals.

You are so turned on, and you feel stimulation from all sides. Your hand wants to reach for Van's red head, to press it harder, but Nat, watching you like a hawk, pulls you back.

"Let her do it herself." She whispers in your ear. You nod frantically, it's best not to argue with them. A few more movements of Van on your clit, her skillful tongue, which had probably done the same with Taisa before, could easily bring you to orgasm. You moaned more actively, your chest moved a hundred times more intensely, and then she pulled away.

"She's ready, Lottie." Van said, wiping her mouth. It was hard for you to understand what was happening, and you just whined, saddened that you were not allowed to come. For a moment, everyone broke away from you. Everyone was listening to Lottie.

"We'll help you after you help us, Y/N," Lottie says with a smile that sounds like she's some kind of prophet. "We've been waiting so long to get your attention. We think we deserve to come first. But I promise you won't regret it."

You nodded at her, mesmerized, but you felt like this wasn't quite the Lottie you knew. She was so mysterious, and you couldn't tell what was on her mind.

"Get away from her, all of you." Lottie commanded. "And you, Y/N, sit on your knees, please. Put something down so it won't hurt her to sit on the floor."

Van and Nat dutifully laid out their own jackets so your knees wouldn't hurt from what you were about to do. It was a pleasant moment of care. You obediently settled down on your knees in front of Lottie. You were literally being eaten with their eyes, and you were ready for what was to happen.

Lottie was already reaching for her shorts, but Jackie spoke up. "Sorry, Lottie… but I'll be the first." She said, raising her chin high. Jackie's voice was filled with nervous confidence, and she tried to withstand Lottie's and the other girls' piercing gaze. "I'm the captain of our team, and I want to be the first one to do this. What made you think you could lead?"

Lottie was silent, and you couldn't even understand what she was thinking right now. Then she nodded, and her voice was cold. "Okay. Be the first. But don't ruin it too soon."

You didn't understand the meaning of the words, but Jackie frantically replaced Lottie, pulled down her shorts, and the taste of her cunt quickly imprinted on your tongue. You didn't know what Jackie really wanted to achieve by this - to let you fuck her first or she just felt depressed because of how Lottie quickly took control and everyone, even Shauna, was ready to obey her. In any case, you didn't mind. You devotedly licked her pussy and tried to watch Jackie's reaction, just to please her. In your fantasies, you tried many times to make Jackie as good as you could. In your mind, Jackie was not the type to give - she liked to receive more, and if she had to be on top in your fantasies, she was so gentle and timid, afraid to make an extra move, that it only excited you more. But here she was — trying to have your whole mouth, like she had been fantasizing about it for so long that you were almost dizzy with the realization. Your drool and her juices were running down her thighs while she moaned, and the others were watching, some daring to stick their hands down their own shorts. A couple of minutes passed and Jackie came convulsively, sitting down on the bench. Now she wouldn’t object. She had no strength.

Shauna was next. She was never patient, not with what she liked - her hand grabbed your hair (no one protested, everyone decided she deserved it for scoring the final goal during the nationals qualifiers) and she pulled herself roughly-gently towards her vagina. Your eyes rolled back and you almost got lost in her thick dark pubic hair, but fuck, she was delicious and you were ready to continue as long as it took. You even forgot how to breathe sometimes - Shauna was a little rough, muttering something harshly under her breath and moaning, repeating your sweet name. She came quickly and took a step to the side, pulling up her shorts and retreating to the bathroom, apparently to rethink something.

Then there was Taissa… and Van. They were both allowed near you at the same time. You were dumbfounded, not knowing how to cope with taming two pussies at the same time, but you didn't even have time to wipe the saliva and cum from your mouth, as the red vagina was in your mouth. You had to change one pussy to the other every 15-20 seconds, trying to lick both like never before. You were forbidden to use your hands, but they both frantically encouraged you as best they could, while your tongue circled their clits, and the dirty noise filled the locker room, already filled with heat and languid sighs.

"You're holding up great, Y/N… Come on, help Van a little…" Taissa whispered, tearing you away from her pussy, because you stubbornly did not want to stop. However, upon hearing her order, you quickly set to work on Van, drawing a sigh of excitement from her, and ten seconds later, an orgasm. Taissa followed.

Then there was Nat. You licked your lips, ready to receive her. You were surprised that her pussy was shaved, maybe she was getting ready and wanted to please you? This thought caused a sweet warmth in you. And Nat's pussy tasted sweet too. You sucked on her clit, wanting to please her in a way that no guy had ever done. Natalie moaned surprisingly softly, and it excited you so much that there was almost no dry spot left in your panties. She let you use your hands, and you held her by the hips, because she was shaking while your wet tongue caressed her tender folds, and the hot air from her nose came straight to her pubis. Needless to say, Nat came quickly, but for some time she did not want to leave your mouth? Misty didn't even ask your permission. Her head was wrapped around yours, her fingers tangled in your soft hair, and she was holding you to her bushy pussy like she was dying without it. You were taken aback, but that didn't stop you from wanting to please her, even if her actions were met with disapproval from the other girls. No one wanted to be played with more roughly than the rest. You licked her, trying to please her as much as possible - Misty looked like she was not easy to please, but she was whispering so sweetly in your ear, praise and advice, that your arousal literally flowed out of your panties.

"Yes, t-that's it, Y/N… That's just perfect, oh, you're so beautiful. You're just an angel, a little perfection." She muttered selflessly, her glasses falling to the tip of her nose as she came loudly in your mouth.

You were exhausted, but Lottie was still there. She was the last one. You looked up at her, tired, sluggish, and excited. She gave you a quick smile, but there was undisguised triumph in her eyes. She had you after all. Did we mention that Lottie hated rejection and not getting what she wanted?

Lottie lifted your chin, gently stroked your hair and tidied it up, wiped the tears of pleasure from your eyelashes. She let you dive into her pussy yourself, start licking it yourself, as if you were in some kind of licking contest and were going to take first place there. She let you keep glancing at her, watching every movement of her moaning mouth and trembling hands, just to please her. Your heart was beating so fast and it was so hot and you wanted to please her so much, plunging your sweet tongue into her pussy over and over again, that you had a hard time holding on. Lottie took the longest, savoring every second and apparently holding herself back. Eventually she pulled your head away from her, pressed her pussy to your forehead and came, covering you even more with her wetness. You were all for it.

"You did well, Y/N. You love us so much, you were ready for everyone." Lottie said tiredly. She nodded to the girls, and they sat around you. "Now you've earned a reward, huh?" You nodded vigorously, needing release. You were so wet, and almost whining with excitement. Your head ended up in Shauna's lap, and Nat, Misty and Jackie quickly found themselves at your feet. Misty nibbled on your calves and thighs, often not hesitating to do it quickly and hard, while Jackie, on the contrary, licked them like a kitten, gently nipping at the sensitive skin. This crazy contrast made you breathe quickly and roll your eyes, and all for the sake of Shauna watching this cute picture. Nat touched your pussy with her tongue, her two fingers slid inside your wet cunt - after such a long abstinence, taking two fingers at once was not at all difficult. You moaned, letting them all work on you while the others watched. Natalie's tongue was trying so hard to please you, playfully sucking and pulling on your clit, playing with your labia and purposely quickly driving her fingers into you, wanting to bring you to the peak and play on you like guitar strings.

"We love you, Y/N, such a gift for us." Jackie purrs, watching Natalie fuck your helpless pussy.

"You're the best!" Misty agrees with a smile, biting you and licking it slobberily.

"All that's left is to cum." Shauna says calmly, not hiding her smirk, constantly keeping her eyes on herself. "Come on. Nat's mouth is waiting for it."

As if on cue, you spill into Natalie's mouth with a loud moan. Everyone exhales relaxedly, and Natalie cleans your pussy with her tongue. "You're just sweet, princess." She smirks at her own abilities.

You let yourself sink into the girls' arms, catching your breath. You don't know yet that later they'll help you get dressed, each of them will kiss you on the lips, and you'll tell them to talk about it after Nationals. In the end, you still can't seem to choose one. You love them all, and you're waiting for them to return to Wiskayok, safe and sound, with victory in hand.

#shauna shipman x reader #x reader #yellowjackets #lottie matthews x reader #jackie taylor x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #misty quigley x reader #van palmer x reader #taissa turner x reader #yellowjackets smut #x reader smut #female reader #damn that body

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babyflorencee · 2 days ago

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Lucky in Love

Supersticiousrry x fem!Reader

Harry Styles was, without a doubt, the king of superstitions. He didn’t just follow them; he lived by them. From knocking on wood to avoiding cracks in the sidewalk, Harry was all in. He’d learned all of his rituals from his grandmother, who told him they were essential for living a happy life. And Harry? Well, he was more than willing to believe her, especially now that he had Y/n in his life.

At first, she thought Harry’s obsession with luck was... cute? But then it began to spiral into something else entirely.

It started one morning when Harry rushed into the kitchen, wide-eyed, holding a single sunflower in one hand and a bag of salt in the other. Y/n was sipping her coffee, still half asleep, trying to process why her boyfriend was holding a plant and a bag of salt like they were some kind of holy relics.

“Okay, baby, I need you to listen to me very carefully. This is crucial,” Harry said, dead serious.

“Harry, it’s 7 AM,” Y/n mumbled, raising an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

“I forgot to throw salt over my shoulder yesterday, and now our relationship might be at risk.” Harry’s face was so sincere it was almost impressive.

Y/n blinked at him, trying to keep a straight face. “Wait, what?”

“The salt!” Harry said, shaking the bag for emphasis. “It’s like, it’s the ultimate protection spell, okay? I can’t—we can’t—be in a good relationship without salt being thrown at least once a day.”

Y/n stared at him, slowly lowering her mug. “So... you're telling me that we could be doomed if you don’t throw some salt over your shoulder?”

“Yes, exactly! It’s tradition,” Harry said with a nod. “But that’s not all. I need to water this sunflower exactlytwelve times before sunset or it’ll jinx our love life.”

“I—uh... What?” Y/n was now holding back her laughter at this point.

“Oh! And if we don’t both say ‘bless you’ three times when one of us sneezes, we could have seven years of bad luck! Seven years Y/n!” Harry added, his eyes growing wide with concern.

Y/n laughed so hard she almost snorted. “Okay, okay! I’ll throw some salt over my shoulder and water the sunflower. But only if you promise not to go around tapping every single corner in the house with your knuckles again.”

Harry froze, his eyes widening in absolute horror. “Wait—what?” He stared at her like she’d just suggested they give up breathing. “You mean... you don’t knock on every corner for good luck? But... but that’s— that’s like the most important part! ”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a grin. “You can’t actually be serious right now.”

“No, I’m not serious, but this is!” Harry’s face was full of concern as he placed his hands on his hips. “If I don’t knock on every corner, Y/n, it’s like inviting disaster into our lives. It’s the doorway to misfortune, it’s a rule of the universe!”

Y/n bit her lip, holding back laughter. “A doorway to misfortune... right, sure, I get it now.”

Harry, his face pale and on the verge of a meltdown, shook his head in disbelief. “I... I don’t think I can handle that kind of risk. You’re asking me to toss our luck aside." He paused, his gaze sweeping the room as if searching for answers, his expression growing even more dramatic. “How... how is this relationship still standing without you knocking on corners? What kind of dark magic have you unleashed?”

Y/n burst into laughter. "I swear, no magic involved."

Harry exhaled in relief. "Good. Because that's bad luck too. But just to be safe... we're definitely knocking a few corners today. For good measure."

Y/n couldn’t take it anymore. She burst out laughing, rolling her eyes. “Okay, okay! Fine. We'll knock the corners. But only because I love you and don’t want to risk misfortune.”

Harry, his eyes still wide, sighed in relief. “Oh, thank you baby. You really had me there for a second. We can’t mess with the balance of the universe like that!”

Y/n shook her head with a fond smile. “You’re absolutely ridiculous. But I’ll do anything to keep the luck on our side... even if that means I have to go corner-knocking today.”

***

The next day, things got even crazier. Y/n was sitting on the couch in the living room when Harry appeared wearing a very oversized red sock on his left hand. “Baby, what are you doing?” she asked, stifling a laugh.

“I’m wearing my lucky hand-sock,” he explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You just don’t get it. If I wear a sock on my left hand, it brings good fortune. I got a promotion at work yesterday because I did this. So, naturally, I'm going to be doing this every day now.”

“Every day? With a sock on your hand?” Y/n couldn’t contain her giggles any longer.

“Yes,” Harry said solemnly, wiggling his fingers inside the sock. “And you have to do it, too.”

“Wait, what? I don’t even have a sock for my hand!” Y/n protested.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll get you one. We need both hands covered, or else the balance will be off,” Harry said, clearly dead serious.

Y/n’s heart melted at his ridiculousness. He was the dorkiest person she’d ever met, but it was something she couldn’t resist. She nodded and sighed. “Alright, Harry. I’ll wear your sock. But only because you’re way too cute for me to argue with.”

Harry beamed at her like she’d just agreed to marry him. “Perfect! Now we’re both lucky. And don’t forget, we also need to eat pancakes for breakfast every Sunday. Pancakes are the ultimate guide to good luck.”

“Okay, pancakes on Sunday. Got it,” Y/n said with a grin. “What next, Harry?”

“Well, it’s Wednesday, so we can’t eat tomatoes,” Harry said, his tone firm, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Y/n blinked, baffled. “What? Why not?”

Harry began pacing around the room dramatically, his expression deadly serious. “Tomatoes on Wednesdays?! Y/n, come on! That’s like asking for the universe to smack you upside the head with bad luck. They’re a gateway to disaster! You really want to risk it?”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Wait, so eating tomatoes on a Wednesday is like... what? A curse or something?”

Harry stopped pacing, looked her dead in the eye, and shook his head, a mix of exasperation and disbelief in his voice. “Exactly. It’s not just any old bad luck, it’s Wednesday bad luck. You’re tempting fate, and fate? Not a fan of tomatoes on Wednesdays. Trust me.”

Y/n stared at him, her mouth agape . “You’re actually serious right now, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Harry said, his eyes narrowing. “Do you really want to test the tomato gods? Because I’m telling you, we’re better off with a different vegetable. Preferably, one that doesn’t cause, you know, catastrophic consequences!"

Y/n burst into laughter. “So you're telling me I can’t have my tomato sandwich for lunch today because of some ancient curse?”

“Exactly!” Harry said, waving his arms dramatically. “Tomatoes on Wednesdays bring nothing but bad vibes. We can’t risk it, Y/n. We just can't. I care too much about us.”

She couldn’t help but giggle, shaking her head. “Okay, okay, no tomatoes on Wednesdays. Got it. But what happens if we accidentally break this rule?”

Harry looked at her seriously. “Don’t even joke about that. If you eat a tomato on a Wednesday, you might accidentally summon bad luck, and we might end up with spilled coffee, broken dishes," he then let out a gasp, putting his right hand over his mouth, "or worse—”

“Or worse?” Y/n interrupted, trying not to laugh.

“Or worse.” Harry said, nodding gravely.

“Alright, no tomatoes for me today then,” Y/n said, standing up from the couch and making her way over to Harry. She leaned in and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. “But only because I don’t want to anger the tomato gods.”

“It's better to be safe than sorry.” Harry smiled, then did a dramatic twirl and pointed to the door. “Now, we leave, but remember—always step on the right side of the doorframe. That’s the lucky side.”

“Of course.” Y/n rolled her eyes in amusement but followed his lead.

***

A week later, Y/n found herself following Harry around the apartment as he went through his superstitious checklist.

“Alright, now we need to make sure the door’s closed before we go out. It’s bad luck to leave it ajar.” He went around checking every door and window as if the house was an ancient temple that needed to be guarded.

Y/n was trying not to laugh. “And this is all for good luck?”

Harry nodded seriously. “Yes. Trust the process.”

“Okay,” she said, playing along. “Then what do we do if we step on a crack?”

Harry looked at her like she had just asked about summoning a demon. “You don’t step on a crack. That’s like a whole other level of bad luck. You just—don’t.”

Y/n burst into laughter. “What is happening? This is so weird, but also kind of... fun?”

Harry smiled, pulling her close and holding her tightly. “We’re making our own luck, Y/n. It’s not just about superstition—it’s about believing in each other and in the magic we create together.”

Y/n couldn’t stop smiling as she wrapped her arms around him. “Well, whatever it is, I’m starting to think you might be onto something.”

Harry looked at her, his expression full of pride. “See? I told you. The rituals are part of the magic. They work for everything—even our relationship.”

Y/n blinked. “Wait, our relationship?”

Harry nodded, his eyes serious now. “Especially our relationship. I have a whole system in place to make sure our love is always lucky. You know, so nothing can break us apart.”

“Wait, what?” Y/n laughed, though a part of her felt a little skeptical. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.” Harry crossed his arms, and smiled. “I’ve got a lot of superstitions about relationships. Like, if we both don’t get enough sleep, it’s bad luck for our bond. And we can never—never—fight on a Wednesday. It’s a curse. Oh, and if we’re ever separated for more than three days, we have to write each other a letter. It’s good luck. It keeps us connected.”

Y/n stared at him, half in awe, half in disbelief. “Okay, I’m not going to lie—that is a lot of pressure for a Wednesday.”

Harry’s face softened, and he took her hand. “I just want to make sure nothing ever comes between us. All these superstitions are like little rituals that makes sure we stay happy together.”

Y/n looked at him for a moment, and then, a sudden warmth filled her chest. She knew it was a bit wild, and way over the top, but the way Harry cared so deeply about making their relationship work made her heart swell.

“Alright, alright,” she said with a grin. “I’ll follow your superstitions. But only if we add a new one—like, ‘No bad vibes in the apartment on Mondays.’”

Harry laughed, clearly delighted, his eyes sparkling, “Deal! See? I knew you’d come around. Lucky socks, salt, lucky charms—soon you’ll be asking for a rabbit’s foot to hang on our door.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far, but maybe we should invest in some lucky socks for real. For next time.”

“Deal!” Harry said, holding out his hand. “Lucky socks it is. But only if you wear them with the green striped ones.”

She shook his hand, grinning. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

As they walked out the door, Y/n couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through her. It wasn’t just about Harry’s superstitions, but how much effort he put into making sure their relationship stayed strong. His belief in these little rituals, no matter how silly, made her smile every time. It wasn’t about magic or luck—it was about the care he showed in wanting to hold onto them. And as absurd as it all seemed, she realized she wouldn't trade it for anything.

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cosmica-galaxy · 3 days ago

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I feel that this would turn stardew into a little bit of a horror game. Especially since he would probably show up there because of his "neighbor" living there, ae: the farmer. His events will probably be unsettling and a little disturbing, but never fully goes into horror territory. I have thought up a few things he may do while in stardew. +He will probably live in the community center, and it may come alive just like Home. (This is for those who think Wally/Home are the same entity...plus, it would be hilarious to see a community center home) +Unintentionally creeps out the townsfolk because they keep mentioning things that Wally does, like== ="That Wally fellow...he seems strange, doesn't he? I saw him staring at me from the dark while I was taking a night walk last night..." ="Be careful, Farmer. That Wally guy is a weirdo. I don't think I have ever seen him eat anything else other than fruit and when Gus offered him a burger....he just...glared at it." ="That newcomer Wally...I feel a strong negative energy surrounding him, but I can't explain why. I would be cautious, Farmer. That character is showing signs of being rather ominous." +Wally is the only person that doesn't have friendship decay or dislikes. He enjoys whatever you give him, no matter if it's a piece of junk or a diamond. His friendship can only go up and it will only go down if you get married to someone else in the town other than him. +Wally has no known "birthday". Instead, his "birthday" is on Spring 1st, the day you arrived in Stardew Valley. +If the Player dates and marries Wally, the community center will go back to normal...and the Player's house will come alive instead. +Wally will probably start out with max friendship, since you're supposed to be "best friends" with Wally. +If the joja route is picked instead of the community center route, the joja shop will come alive, Wally will become the owner, and the joja salesman will mysteriously disappear. Asking the townsfolk about him will only give you ominous messages like "What are you talking about? Wally has always been the owner of joja mart!". +Walking around after dark will have a chance to trigger a cutscene with Wally or show the more ominous side of him following you after dark, like the townsfolk said before. +If you are romancing Wally, other townsfolk will be slightly concerned that you are mingling with him, but won't prevent you from loving or marrying him. +Wally will send you gifts constantly into your mailbox. This could be just rocks, money, or even ores he has found. +Wally will paint on non-rainy days as his idle animation when he is out and about, however, he will still talk to you unlike other townfolk that get "engrossed" in their tasks that they ignore the farmer. +The option to divorce Wally is completely removed after the marriage event. Divorce becomes impossible and other routes will be locked from ever occurring. Trying to romance someone else will simply give you the message that "a force beyond your control makes you crush the bouquet in your hands". +If you return late at night, and if you're married to Wally, he can be seen standing in your shared bedroom, waiting for you to arrive. +The only towsnfolk not bothered by Wally are the children, The Dwarf, and Krobus. They don't seem to find him as scary or unsettling as the adults do. +Wally can take care of farming tasks and children are possible, and it's something he mentions a fair bit in passing, so he's a very decent husband. His section of the house is themed with art supplies and painting utensils. +Fainting in the mines while dating Wally will have him pick up the farmer instead and will heal you free of charge. Which makes him useful even before marriage. +Due to him having a high friendship at the start of the game, Wally can be married within a week of starting your game. Making all the townsfolk confused and uncertain of what happened between you both to get married so fast after moving to Stardew Valley. =--- Sorry for the mile long ramble. It's 4am.

Remember the time when I was trying to made stardew valley mode? I give up 📑 because I not the best coder haha, so here are the sprites that I made!

(Maybe I'll return to this mod in the summer? Not sure haha)

Why not you know(?)

#welcome home #stardew valley mods

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angelpuns · 3 days ago

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More thoughts about Todd Au:

I think Leo didn't get his mask til Post S2 ( cause he got it from Splinter ). Also his whole thing during the movie is that he's like ' I'm definitely not ready for this responsibility cause how am I supposed to keep my brothers safe??' And Splinter, who is finally starting to see Leo as his son is like ' ah you'll be fine ' ( spoiler, he was not fine )

Anyway his reaction to the movie is also v different. When CJ yells at him, its not really a stubborn sort of reaction of ' I told them I couldn't be the leader' he just literally starts sobbing. I think there's more of a focus on like Leo's feelings of doubt. Which he's never really doubted himself before this, since Todd has always been so supportive of him, but since Splinter is so different, and this is such a different kind of responsibility, its like the most stressful thing he's ever been through

Anyway here's some doodles:

Also some Post Horrors ideas :) idk what's gonna happen during the movie just yet but I miiiiight keep him in there. Like haha you're finally accepting your full family ( Splinter included ) and now you're alone :)

#rottmnt #art #fanart #digital art #rottmnt leo #rottmnt fanart #comic #rottmnt fanfic #rottmnt comic #rottmnt art #todd au

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destinedfordiapers · 11 hours ago

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The Intern

This caption is for @ellieabdl, a blushy little thing. I hope you enjoy it!

You sat there frozen in place, terror washing over you.

This can’t be happening.

Pee trickled down your office chair, pooling on the floor. You just peed yourself. At work.

What were you going to do?

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, it does. She walked in, that same confident smile plastered on her face.

Nobody would have ever suspected Megan was a mere intern at the office. Despite being over ten years older than her—and her direct supervisor—you were often confused for her intern by clients.

There was just something about her. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you felt the pressure her presence put on you.

Megan took one look at you, her eyes drifting down to the pool of your own pee, before walking straight toward you.

“Up,” she demanded. You obey. She inspects the damage, turning you around.

“Don’t worry, you’re okay. Give me your phone, I’ll call your husband.”

Too shocked to argue, you hand her your phone.

“Hi…no, this is Megan, Eleanor’s intern. She’s fine, well, kinda…no, no nothing serious! She just…well she had a little accident…oh, it’s not her first? Well that explains some things…great, we’ll be waiting in her office.”

She turns to you, smiling. “Your husband is on the way with a change of clothes. Just sit here, okay? I’ll make sure everything gets cleaned up.”

The next twenty minutes were some of the most awkward in your life. Megan never left your office. Finally, your husband, Jason, walks in with a bag of spare clothes.

He hands you the bag and you open it. To your utter horror, a pull-up is sitting on top.

“Eleanor,” Jason says calmly, “I think it’s time you wear some protection. This is starting to get out of hand.”

Before you can argue, Megan nods her head. “I agree, Eleanor. And Jason, I’ll be happy to help keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s not leaking and changing on time.”

That was six months ago.

Six grueling, humiliating months.

Somehow your intern now walked into your office like you were her subordinate. She didn’t knock. She just came in.

Megan walked straight over to you, telling you to stand up. And, no matter how much you wanted to argue, to stand up for yourself, you obeyed.

You let your intern—over a decade younger than you—walk into your office and check your pull-up. And if you were soggy, she’d hand you another pull-up and tell you to go change.

And your pull-up was wet far more often than before. Needless to say, your confidence was shattered. Your performance and work was slipping.

Every day, Megan would report your pull-up usage to your husband. Each day their conversations got lighter, their laughter intensified.

You loathed Megan’s power over you. The way everything she did was so effortless. She was graceful; she was strong. Most of all, you hated the way you always obeyed her.

And then it happened.

You felt a sudden, devastating urge. You needed to get to the bathroom now or you’d mess your pull-up. You wouldn’t let that happen. You waddled as fast as you could without losing control to the bathroom. As you got to the bathroom door, you felt a sigh of relief.

You were going to make it.

Until Megan opened the door. “What’s the rush, Ellie?”

It was too late. Before you could take another step—or even respond—you were squatting down and filling your pull-up.

Megan watched the whole thing, eyes locked onto you.

“Uh oh, did smelly Ellie make a stinky in her pull-up? I need to call your husband, we need to have a little chat about you.”

The next day, your husband insisted that he drives you to work over your objections. It was unusual—but so was the thick diaper between your legs.

After yesterday, your husband decided you’ll be in diapers until you can figure out your “potty situation.”

To your surprise, your husband opened your car door and told you to follow him upstairs, offering his hand.

“W-what are you doing?” you ask meekly.

“Your boss is expecting us,” he says matter-of-factly.

Without another word, you follow your husband as he marched to your bosses office, hyper-aware of the crinkling of your diaper.

You stop dead in your tracks when you see her in your bosses office. That same confident grin you hated so much.

Megan greets your husband like an old friend before everyone sits.

“What’s this all about?” your boss asks.

Without hesitation, Megan starts, “About my promotion, sir. Ellie is no longer qualified for her position, though I’m not sure she ever was.”

You look at her stunned. You move to stand up, but your husband’s hand prevents it. “No, Ellie,” he whispers to you.

Your husband turns to your boss. “Ellie is here to resign. It’s for the best. She’s clearly overwhelmed by this job and Megan is far better suited for the position.”

Your boss looks at you and Megan. His confusion gives way to a smile.

“Well, this certainly saves an awkward conversation. Megan is someone our company cannot afford to lose. And Eleanor’s performance has been, well, dreadful lately.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m happy to take over her position immediately,” Megan grins, “This is a win-win for everyone.”

Your boss nods. “But…may I ask why?”

Your husband answers for you. “Ellie isn’t made for the corporate world. She needs a slower pace in life. If she’s too immature to keep her pants clean, she’s definitely too immature to be a Senior Vice President!”

“So it’s true?” your boss asks, “I try not to be involved in office gossip, but it was all everyone could talk about yesterday.”

“Yep!” Megan answers, “Ellie had an oopsie-daisy in her pull-up yesterday. So we decided it was best for her to…move to a position more suited for her.”

“Well, that settles it,” your boss says standing up, signifying the end of the meeting, “Stick around Megan, I want to talk to you about your job after I walk Elean—Ellie—out.”

On the drive home, your husband explained exactly what your “new position” would be.

“Ellie, I love you. I’ll always love you. But things are going to change. You were never cut out for all this. I see that now. It was selfish of me to even let you try.”

You open your mouth to argue.

“No sweetie, just listen. You’re not like Megan. She may be 12 years younger than you, but she’s already everything you’re not. She’s smart, confident, and capable. I mean, she did take your job in six months—starting as in intern!”

“And what did you do while she did that? You went back to diapers. While she was taking your job, you were filling your pampers. So, if you’re going to act like a baby, then you’ll be treated like one.”

“I-I’m not a baby, it was just stress! I..”

“Oh, you’re not? Let’s see, Ellie. Babies need diapers—and so do you. Babies don’t have jobs—and neither do you. Babies cry when they’re upset or have an accident—and so do you. So what does that make you?”

You feel your diaper grow warm.

“I’ll help you out. It makes you a baby. And what do babies need, hmm? Caregivers! Babies need Daddies! And so do you.”

Your eyes grow wide.

“So from now on, I’m not your husband. I’m your Daddy. And your only job—now that you’re unemployed—is to be Daddy’s little angel. You don’t need to worry about a single thing anymore.”

Your husband—well, Daddy now—took his new role seriously. The guest room slowly transformed into a nursery. Complete with changing table, crib, and toys.

So many toys.

You found yourself losing more adult privileges every day, slipping more into the world of your second babyhood.

Your bedtime was no 7:30. You took a nap at noon every day. Your meals were served in a high chair—and never with any utensils. Your movies and tv shows were never rated above PG.

More troubling, you could swear you heard someone else in the house after Daddy put you to bed. But no matter how many times you asked, Daddy just laughed.

“Don’t worry about the adults, Ellie-welly, babies like you should be in dreamland!”

Which brings us to today.

It started like any other. Well, since your Daddy sent you back to babyhood. Daddy woke you up, changed your diaper with plenty of tummy tickles and raspberries. You ate your oatmeal in your highchair. You made your mid-morning stinky. And Daddy put you down for your nap.

All standard stuff.

You were laying on your bed, coloring and watching Bluey when it happened.

“Hi Da—!” you started, before realizing it wasn’t Daddy.

It was Megan.

“Hiya, Ellie!” Megan cooed, “Awwww, are you coloring for Daddy? Are you staying in the lines or is that still too much for you?”

“Wha-what are you doing here?” you whimper.

“Well, someone needs to watch Daddy’s little stinker while he runs errands. Babies can’t change their own diapers, silly!”

Megan reaches down and checks your diaper. “Not too wet, yet, Ellie-belly!”

You whimper like a scared baby who misses her Daddy.

Because that’s what you are.

”I can’t believe it,” Megan scoffs, “I knew you were pathetic when you hired me, but I didn’t know you were this pathetic. I mean, aren’t you like 33? Look at you! In a soggy diaper coloring on a workday?”

You look at Megan. She’s so beautiful, so sexy in a way you could never be. Not in thick, soggy diapers.

“And this room? I can’t. Well, nursery, is the better word. You even have a changing table! And look how many diapers! Isn’t it embarrassing to know you’re going to fill every single one up?”

“Or do you even care? I mean, I’d never let myself be some pamper packer while his Daddy is out fucking re—never mind.”

Despite your overwhelming humiliation, you can’t help yourself. “D-doing what?”

“Oh, honey, you don’t know? Did Daddy not tell you? Well, it does make sense, why would a Daddy tell a baby who he’s fucking? Wait…have you not even wondered? Are you THAT much of a baby you don’t even think of sex anymore?”

She’s lying. She had to be.

You blush violently, dreading the truth. You hadn’t had sex since the day you were fired. But that was just because Daddy was adjusting! Surely.

“Ellie, your Daddy needs a woman—not some baby in diapers. You understand that, right? Look at me. I’m everything your Daddy wants. I have a job. I’m potty trained. I’m mature. You’re none of those things.”

You want to yell, to scream at Megan. But the look in her eye—the menace—shuts you down.

There’s no point in trying. She’s in control. You’ll never be able to beat her. She’s right. She’s everything you’re not.

“Now, little one, let’s find something to do before your Daddy gets home. I think it’s good for us to bond in our new roles.”

“N-new roles?” you stutter.

She just laughs. “Don’t you worry your silly little head, Ellie-welly, I’m sure you’ll figure it all out one day.”

#diaper captions #diaper humiliation

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luvfae · 13 hours ago

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RED LIGHT,

GREEN LIGHT

summary: thanos flirts, you flirt back—then a game of red light, green light turns deadly, and his hand in yours is the only thing keeping you steady.

parings: thanos/choi su-bong

warnings: death, blood, typical squid games stuff

The first thing Thanos noticed about you was your number.

231.

One after his.

It was stupid, really. Out of hundreds of players crammed into this nightmare, something as small as a number shouldn’t have mattered. But it did. It felt like fate. Like a string tying you to him, just tight enough that he couldn’t ignore it.

And then you caught him staring.

You arched a brow. “Like what you see, 230?”

Thanos smirked, rolling his shoulders. “Depends. You single?”

A laugh, light and dry. “You’re trying to flirt here?” You gestured around the room, at the desperate faces, the eerie guards, the sheer wrongness of the place.

He shrugged. “What, you want me to wait ‘til after I win this shit?”

“You think you’re gonna win?”

Thanos grinned. “Babe, I don’t lose. So stick with me.”

You clicked your tongue. “Oh, so I get to be your sidekick?”

“Call it what you want, señorita, but if we’re standing next to each other when the game starts, I’d say we’re already teammates.”

You snorted, shaking your head, but the amused glint in your eyes didn’t waver. Maybe it was the nerves, the fear manifesting as sarcasm, but you liked him. That was dangerous.

The speakers crackled overhead.

“Players, please proceed to the first game.”

The doors opened, revealing a massive outdoor field. Sunlight spilled across the dirt path ahead, leading straight to the oversized, terrifyingly cartoonish doll at the other end.

Thanos let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s unsettling.”

You swallowed hard. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Stick with me, babe.” He bumped his shoulder against yours.

You huffed out a laugh, but then—

The song began. The first Red Light rang out.

And then the gunfire.

Bodies dropped. Blood painted the dirt red.

Your breath hitched in your throat. What the hell was this place?

The doll’s head swiveled, its chilling voice calling

“Green Light.”

Thanos moved before he could think, grabbing your hand.

Thanos squeezed your fingers once. His other hand slipped something into your palm—quick, practiced, subtle.

You glanced down. A pill.

You snapped your gaze up to him, heart hammering.

He didn’t look at you. Just whispered under his breath, low enough for only you to hear.

“Take it. It’ll calm you down.”

Red Light.

Neither of you moved.

Your chest was heaving. Your grip on his hand was too tight, fingernails pressing into his skin.

He didn’t let go.

The next Green Light came.

You slipped the pill under your tongue, gripping his hand as you both took another careful step forward.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

Despite the chaos, despite the gunshots and the horror, your stomach flipped.

Another Red Light.

Stillness.

Thanos leaned in, just enough that you felt the heat of him, his breath against your ear. “Told you I’d get you through this.”

You barely had time to process that before the next Green Light.

More steps. More bodies dropping around you.

Your hand was still in his, but this time, you were the one holding on for dear life.

Another Red Light.

Thanos exhaled. “You’re shaking.”

“No shit.” Your voice was thin, barely audible.

He didn’t let go. “We’re almost there.”

Another shot.

Someone’s blood splattered onto your sleeve.

You whimpered, fingers tightening around his.

“Don’t look,” he murmured. “Look at me.”

You did.

And for a moment, there was nothing but him. The warmth of his hand, the steadiness of his grip. His eyes—dark, steady, watching you like you were the only thing keeping him sane.

Stillness.

Silence.

His lips barely moved when he whispered, “If we die, I just wanna say—you’re kinda cute.”

A laugh bubbled in your throat. You bit your lip. “Flirting again?”

Thanos smirked. “Keeps you from freaking out, doesn’t it?”

Green Light.

He pulled you forward.

Your legs were weak, every nerve in your body screaming at you to run, to bolt for the finish line. But you didn’t. You matched his pace. Slow. Steady. Trusting.

One more Red Light.

Thanos swallowed. “We’re gonna make it.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Green Light.

Final steps.

Final seconds.

And then—

The finish line.

Your feet hit solid ground. The two of you collapsed forward, barely catching yourselves.

Thanos exhaled, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. And then—he laughed. “Told you I’d get you through.”

You let out a breathless laugh of your own, dizzy from fear and adrenaline. “Yeah. You did.”

His hand was still in yours.

And neither of you let go.

#thanos x reader #thanos #thanos fluff #choi su bong x reader #choi su bong fluff #choi su bong #player 230 x reader #player 230 #player 230 fluff #squid game

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caseuoiseau · 2 days ago

Text

Please allow me to jump in with a 4th point, because I learned a lot of different fiber arts and craft stuff as a kid, and when you're a kid you tend not to care as much about your lumpy first project because every first thing you've ever done to date has been lumpy, and you tend to lack a general idea of what failure is and focus on the "Yey-I-did-it!"

But the first craft I tried as an adult was spinning, which had the triple threat horrors of being:

a) ...thoroughly unlike any other fiber craft I had ever done, despite being integral to each one (sewing, knitting, crochet--all require fiber to be spun before anything else can be done).

b) ...the first skill I had to pay my own hard-earned, fresh-out-of-college pennies to learn, and

c) ...another one of those things like playing guitar where everyone else before me had decided that the difficult part to be managed by your dominant hand was actually the complete opposite of what I thought.

So my one or two private lessons didn't amount to anything remotely usable, until a few years later when some big-name blogger started posting her spinning. And I got pissed off because I took one look at it and I thought to myself "That's barely better than mine was, and she's getting all these accolades from her followers??? I bet I could spin yarn like that with my shitty wooden-toy-wheel spindle." And man oh man didni sit down and spin.

Now, I didn't start writing this story to tell you that Spite Will Fuel You To Perfection, so don't get ahead of me. Because my fiber had been compacted over the years and I was over-twisting it and I didn't technically understand that "single ply" doesn't actually work with handspun, and I wound up making some pretty wretched curly rope. Totally unusable. But it was the age of LJ, and I nevertheless showed my craft friends my awful attempt so they could have a good laugh at it, and that's where I got the actual best advice I've received as an adult learning a craft.

My friends who spin simply told me to save it. Hold on to that yarn-that's-barely-yarn, put it in a drawer somewhere and just...check in on it from time to time. Because every time you spin, you get a little bit better at it, and it really, really helps soothe your mind to take a look at that first project when you think you haven't improved.

And my next yarn--arguably a bulky two-ply from some high-micron Shetland, still iloverspun and the texture of rope, but definitely more yarnlike. The next was a very uneven two-ply made by plying merino pencil roving back on itself. Overspun in places, but much more reasonable as handspun--if I'd told someone it was supposed to look like that with a sufficiently confident tone, they would have bought it. That was the first handspum that actually became something:

A little tea cozy that I had to alter pretty spectacularly, since I had only spun about 90 yards out of the 50g I had.

And so it goes, each project getting a little bit better than the last, and noticeably better than the first. I either threw out that yarn or I have it packed away in the attic somewhere, but I used to bring that out at the end of my first night of the drop spindle basics class I used to teach. This is what I made first. These are the next three skeins I made. And here's my most recent.

It's a hell of a way to get people to think more fondly about the kitchen twine they think they've been fighting with for the last two hours.

So, to end with the advice I used to give my first-time knitting class: this isn't like being at work. You aren't expected to be an expert in something you learned 5 minutes ago. You have my permission to suck at this.

I hope all new fiber artists know that the "slightly misshapen" object they made that they're stressed about not looking good:

1. Happens to every fiber artist always, you're too zoomed in to its every detail because you're the one who made it and most people would think it looks normal, or at least much less misshapen than you do, stand 20ft away from it and look at it and then see how you feel (true about all art tbh)

2. Gets better and more uniform each time you do anything

and the *very most important*:

3. Can be made Significantly Less Misshapen by just grabbing the fabric and stretching it in a few directions

I keep helping new fiber artists who are like "but my thing looks so bad :(((" by like, taking their object and stretching it sideways and horizontal, and handing it back, and they're like "????? Magic?????" bc it looks perfect.

Trust the process. Trust the stretchy process

#crafts #spinning #i really had a hell of a team of spinning hyping me up when i first started learning #hugs and kisses wherever you all are #and also snarky comments because honestly fuck all this sincerity it atkes up sooooo mcuh energyyyyyy

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mochacoda · 5 hours ago

Text

python | csc

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x GN!Reader

Synopsis: When you broke up with your boyfriend to work in a different country, you didn't expect to see him ever again. But when you transfer to your company's Seoul branch four years later, the department head is your ex, and he’s made it his objective to make your life a living hell for leaving him all those years ago.

Content: Angst, Fluff, Comfort | Exes to Lovers | Office AU

Tags: emotions, miscommunication, heartache, workaholic!seungcheol, insecure reader, drinking, crying, begging, petnames (sweetheart, love), konglish w/ translations, no "y/n," this is for everyone who voted for cheol in the poll, loosely connected to too nice (joshua)

Word Count: 10K

Masterlist

“I hate him,” you seethe, your fists balled up, crumpling your rejected proposal. “God, I hate him.”

Your coworker, Joshua Hong, looks up from his cubicle with raised eyebrows. “Who?”

You breathe in deeply, willing your rage to dissipate at the sight of his confusion. Poor Joshua doesn’t deserve your anger. “No one,” you say, clenching your jaw.

Open-mouthed, Joshua blinks rapidly, eyes flitting over to glance at the office you had just walked out of. The door to the room is marked with a name plate that has 최승철 [Choi Seungcheol] in bold, gold letters.

“I’m fine,” you insist, hands uncrumpling the document you had just attacked.

“Uh, okay?” he says with a healthy dose of doubt, elongating the “o” in “okay.”

“I just—” you begin, then immediately shut your mouth. “Ugh, forget it.”

It’s one thing to crumple a proposal up, and another thing to start bad-mouthing your boss out in the open. You throw the tattered outline onto your desk, then plop yourself onto your chair. You rub your temples, and then mutter under your breath, “How did I get here?”

“Good question,” Joshua laughs. “Company synergy?”

You groan, “Don’t ever say that word again in my presence.”

“Mmh,” he says, walking over to your cubicle. “You won’t have to worry about my presence in a few months.”

“Don’t remind me,” you sigh, dropping your head in your hands.

Joshua would be leaving the Seoul branch and transferring to the New York branch in a few weeks.

Curse your company for its commitment to “workplace synergy,” swapping out a handful of employees across all departments in its international branches every few years. If it hadn’t been for this horrible program, you wouldn’t be here right now.

You want to rip out your own hair, at this point.

How did it even get to this? You shut your eyes, thinking back to simpler times.

When you first got a job offer at the New York branch of your dream company, your initial reaction was elation. Your second? Doubt. Leaving Seoul was almost unthinkable, not to mention the fact that you’d be leaving your boyfriend behind, too.

For the first few days after hearing back from the recruiter, you knew you’d accept, but kept the news to yourself. You’d heard of so many horror stories about long-distance dating, and after a long period of consideration, you wondered what the point was.

You knew your boyfriend—really knew him. You knew he’d make sacrifices for you at the expense of himself, and it was impossible for you to accept bogging him down with a 14 hour time difference. He’d stay up waiting for your calls, instead of getting much needed rest. He’d worry about you all the time, checking the weather in Manhattan instead of Seoul and calling you constantly instead of his family and friends. He’d wait on you for as long as you needed, in an almost obsessive way, thinking it could make up the difference in distance. But he deserved someone who could love him in person, all of the time.

It’d be better for Seungcheol if you just let him go, freeing him to focus on what mattered more to him. Like work.

He loved you too much to break things off with you himself, so it was better that you did it. For his own good.

That’s what you told him, at least.

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

“Cheol,” you said, teary-eyed. “Cheol, look at me.”

Seungcheol stared blankly at the ground, face frozen.

“Please?” your voice cracked.

“Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t handle?” he suddenly choked out, eyes flashing with hurt. His hands clenched, like he was holding himself back from saying more.

You swallowed thickly, reaching for his arm. “Cheol, I—”

“Don’t call me that,” he said, snatching his hand away from you.

────୨ৎ────

But you had swallowed the real reasons for the breakup.

Because, deep down, you had always suspected otherwise. Somehow, everything had just become so complicated. Loving Seungcheol—which had once been something as easy as breathing—had become a dull pain in your chest, clouding your every thought with insecurities.

Even from the start of the relationship, you’d loved him more, anyway. Back then, you didn’t mind it because you loved him so much, and he was always so, so sweet to you. But around the time of the job offer, paranoia had reared its ugly head, kicking your uncertain thoughts into overdrive.

It was obvious that he didn’t really love you anymore. While you were job seeking, he was distracted. Always checking his phone, not really listening to what you had to say. He made time for you, but he didn’t necessarily make you feel like he loved you as deeply as you did him—it didn’t feel like he was the same guy that you started dating.

Something about his actions just felt like he did them to claim that he loved you, rather than because he actually loved you. His actions were laced with a kind of surface level, superficial quality.

He’d take you out to a fancy dinner, open the door for you, pay for the meal, drive you home—all the gentlemanly things he did when you started dating, too. But on the car ride there and back, and while sitting down eating together, he wouldn’t remember the things you had said about the little things happening in your life—a major change, when compared to the start of your relationship.

And sure, he didn’t have an obligation to remember your next door neighbor's name. But shouldn’t he remember your favorite kind of pie, or your closest cousin’s name? Shouldn’t he just know not to check his phone every time it pings with a new email, or leave you to eat your stupid expensive pasta alone as he takes a call outside?

It was almost like Seungcheol had fallen out of love with you, but was staying with you out of some kind of obligation to continue what he had started? That was your only explanation for why he’d spend time with you, but wouldn’t pay close attention to the things you said. Every Thursday was movie night, and in hopes of trying to keep him away from work, you let him choose the movie every time. But what use was that, when he spent more time looking at his phone than the TV—and more importantly, you, for that matter?

You’d been dating a ghost of a man. While you loved him, he tolerated you.

If the two of you stayed together when you went abroad, he’d probably double down on texts, but he wouldn’t really remember anything you’d said if you mentioned details about them in calls.

You didn’t bring any of these fears up to him, because you knew that he would continue to deny it. In fact, you’d imagined it in your head so much that you could see it when closing your eyes to sleep. If you confronted him, he’d deny that he didn’t love you anymore. But he’d be staring at the ground instead of looking at you. He wouldn’t admit that he was only with you because he enjoyed the consistency of your affection, and because he somewhat pitied you—and most importantly to him, because he wanted to prove to himself that he chose correctly when he started dating you.

The pain of watching the love of your life push down his repulsion just to be with you was decidedly more horrifying than the pain of breaking up with him altogether.

Right before ending things, it had occurred to you that Seungcheol might not have ever loved you in the first place, and that just hammered in the idea that you were making the right decision. He’d get over the breakup fast. He’d probably be thankful for it in a few years, even. If you saw him again, you’d both probably laugh, and in his head, he’d realize that he was grateful that you ended things so that he could focus on his real love, his career.

If you were honest with yourself, you would admit that there was a bit of selfishness driving the breakup, as well. There was no way you could handle Seungcheol sacrificing things for you—if he lost sleep over you, if he worried about you, if he was distracted by you—because you knew he wouldn’t be doing it for love.

Because he only ever cared out of a superficial need to prove to himself that he made the right decision in asking you out all those years ago. Not because he really loved you.

Yes, he probably never loved you, and he would never know the real reason why you ended things.

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

“You give up so easily,” he spat out. “Was I nothing to you?”

Tears were running down your face. “Don’t. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Seungcheol laughed, then buried his head in his hands. “God, to think I almost—”

He stopped, jaw tightening, then shook his head like he couldn’t believe it.

────୨ৎ────

A hand comes down sharply on your desk, jolting you awake.

“Sleeping while on duty?”

Wide-eyed, with tear-stained cheeks, you look up to face your ex-boyfriend. “부장님! [Department Head!]”

Upon seeing your red-rimmed eyes, Seungcheol falters.

Swiping at your under eyes quickly, you bow your head to him slightly. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

He swallows roughly, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He opens his mouth, like he’s about to ask you why you were crying, and your heart drops.

You will crumble if you hear the tone of voice he had used when you broke up with him.

“Excuse me,” you blurt with choked words.

You don’t dare to look at his eyes. Instead, you get up from your seat, then immediately flee to the bathroom.

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

“You can focus on work, now,” you squeaked out.

Seungcheol scoffed again, a cruel sound of disbelief. “What makes you think I give a damn about work right now?”

“Don’t you? Always?” you sniffled.

His eyes flashed with something you couldn’t quite describe. He seemed angry, but not just at you. At himself, too—his hands were balled into fists at his sides, fingernails digging sharply into his palms. His throat bobbed, and you could see the intense restraint he was forcing on himself. He opened his mouth with a sharp breath, then closed it again, as if he wanted to say something but stopped himself.

────୨ৎ────

You stare with glassy eyes at yourself in the mirror, trying to calm your racing heart down. It would be alright. You would be alright.

If you just focused on your work, it would be fine.

Leaving the bathroom, you square your shoulders. You’ll draft up a new proposal that suits his standards, and you’ll do it so excellently that he can’t possibly reject it.

Hours later, and you’re standing outside Seungcheol’s office again. Taking a deep breath, you walk in without knocking or announcing yourself.

The stack of papers trembles in your hands as you place them on Seungcheol’s desk. You keep your expression blank, steadying your breath, willing yourself not to let any emotion slip. “This is the revised proposal.”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up immediately. He takes his time flipping through the pages, his expression unreadable. The tension in the room is suffocating, thick with words left unsaid from years ago. You stand stiffly, waiting, watching the way his fingers drag across the paper. Finally, he exhales sharply and sets the proposal down.

The room is unbearably silent as the question of approval hangs in the air. Your heart pounds so loudly you swear he can hear it.

He should say no immediately. It would be the easiest answer. The logical one. The one you expect.

But he hesitates.

His fingers curl against the polished surface of his desk, and his gaze lingers on the documents in front of him for just a second too long. It’s subtle—anyone else might not notice—but you do. His mask falters. Just a flicker.

And for a split second, you let yourself hope.

Then, his jaw tightens. His hands retreat beneath the table, as if physically pulling himself back. When he finally speaks, his voice is steady, controlled, and restrained—nothing like the eager, puppy-like man you knew him as when you first started dating.

“We’ll have to decline,” he says, and it’s final. Unshakable. Like he hadn’t wavered at all.

You swallow hard, nodding stiffly as if you hadn’t just watched something slip through his fingers. As if it hadn’t slipped through yours, too.

“Decline?” you blurt.

His face remains impassive. “Yes.”

You blink at him, momentarily stunned. You had anticipated that he would be difficult, but this—it’s too fast, too dismissive.

You steel yourself. “Why?”

“It’s not good enough.”

Your fingers clench around the hem of your blazer. “Can’t you separate private and work life?”

He meets your gaze, eyes dark and cool. “I am.” His voice is devoid of any warmth. “I don’t care. Your proposal is bad.”

The words strike harder than they should, more than just a professional critique. A cruel, deliberate dismissal. You know it’s personal—for the past two weeks that you’ve been at the Seoul branch, it has always been personal when it comes to him. Your blood simmers.

“I see.” You force your voice to remain level. “Would you like to point out what’s wrong with it?”

His lips press into a thin line. “No.”

A sharp, bitter laugh escapes you. “Of course not.”

Seungcheol leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Four years ago, you didn’t choose me. So why should I choose your useless proposal?”

The shift is abrupt, the air sucked out of the room in an instant. Your nails dig into your palms.

“I have never loved anyone more than I loved you.” The words leave your lips before you can stop them, the truth of them ringing through the silence.

He scoffs, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something raw. “You left me,” he says, voice edged with something dangerously close to hurt. “You. Left. Me.”

Your breath shudders. “You left me first.”

He leans forward, eyes searching yours, like he’s daring you to take it back. “How?” His voice is quieter now, but no less intense. “How did I leave you, when I was the one you abandoned in Seoul?”

Your vision blurs slightly. This. This is why it never worked between the two of you. He’s too bull-headed to even consider that he was in the wrong.

You shake your head. “Why didn’t you fight for us?”

His jaw tightens. “Why didn’t you?”

A bitter taste coats your tongue. “You gave up so easily.”

His eyes flash. “No,” he says sharply, “you’re the one who brought up work all the time.”

Your hands tremble. “Because if it wasn’t about work, you wouldn’t talk to me!”

That stuns him. His mouth opens slightly, but nothing comes out. His brows knit together, the first crack in his mask of indifference.

You exhale shakily, pressing forward. “Because if I talked about anything else, I knew you wouldn’t listen,” you whisper, voice breaking. “I knew I’d be talking to a man who loved the idea of me more than he actually loved me.”

Seungcheol flinches as if you had struck him. His throat bobs, hands clenched into fists on top of his desk. “That’s not true,” he grits out, but there’s something in his voice—something unsteady, like the words are slipping through his fingers before he can stop them.

“Isn’t it?” you press. His breathing turns uneven, his jaw tightening like he’s physically holding himself back.

“You made me feel like I was a burden,” you continue, the words tumbling out, years of buried pain unraveling in real time. “Like you had to tolerate me between meetings and emails. Like being with me was just another responsibility to check off your list.”

He exhales sharply, like the air’s been knocked out of his lungs. His fingers twitch, gripping the desk so tightly that his knuckles go white. “That’s not—” He stops, biting his tongue, like even he can’t bring himself to finish that sentence.

A bitter laugh escapes you. “You don’t even believe yourself, do you?”

Seungcheol stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floor, his composure unraveling before your eyes. “I worked so damn hard for us,” he says, voice raw.

Your voice is small. “I never asked you to.”

His lips part, and for the first time since you stepped into his office, his expression isn’t blank or cold—it’s vulnerable. And it terrifies you.

His expression cracks, pain flickering through his eyes. “I was trying to build a future for you,” he says, voice raw, desperate. “For us.”

“You were so busy planning a future that you forgot to love me in the present.”

A tense silence falls between you, the weight of the past pressing down on both of you like an unbearable force. His breaths are uneven, his knuckles white from how tightly he’s gripping the edge of his desk.

Finally, he exhales, a bitter, tired laugh leaving his lips. He looks down at the proposal—still sitting there, untouched, still rejected.

“This meeting is over,” he mutters, his voice hoarse.

Your heart clenches painfully, but you nod, blinking rapidly to push back the tears. Without another word, you turn on your heel and walk out, leaving behind the shattered remnants of everything you once were.

When you get back to the safe haven that is your apartment, you retrace everything he had said. Or, rather, the accusations he had thrown at you.

“You left me.”

“I was the one you abandoned in Seoul.”

“Why didn’t you fight for us?” “Why didn’t you?”

“I was trying to build a future for you. For us.”

Your heart strangely aches, remembering how shaken he looked when you called out his workaholic behavior. You had blamed him for the end of it all, but it takes two to end a relationship. Why didn’t you fight harder for him, back then?

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

You’re alone now. It’s what you wanted. To be free from the self-doubt that loving Seungcheol had drilled into you.

Your chest constricted so tightly, you couldn’t breathe.

────୨ৎ────

Two days after the disastrous office meeting, you’ve somehow managed to have the misfortune of sitting in front of your ex-boyfriend at a steakhouse for work. The restaurant is dimly lit, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the space. Your body practically vibrates from the tension.

You can see Seungcheol’s gaze turn sharper every time he looks at you, and it makes it all the more insulting when he immediately brightens at Director Chun. You chug another glass of wine, hoping the buzz will numb the annoyance bubbling within you.

“Thank you, Director,” you say, reaching over the table to shake your superior’s hand. “It was a pleasure.”

“No, thank you, Team Leader,” he chuckles. “We’re lucky to have such competent, young people working for us. I’m sure the Brennans will be thrilled to see this project come to a close so quickly.”

Seungcheol laughs. “We’re lucky to have you, Director.”

It’s so fake, you’re itching to get rid of the stupid grin off his smug face.

“I’m sorry I have to leave so soon,” the director continues. “I’ll see you two back at the office?”

“Of course,” you say, standing up and bowing to him as he gets up from his seat.

When the director finally leaves, you can’t help but swallow roughly. You reach for the wine bottle, refilling your glass for the nth time tonight. The rest of the restaurant is loud, but it is far too quiet in your corner of the room.

Now you’re alone with Seungcheol.

The air crackles with an unspoken tension, thick and suffocating. Seungcheol, across from you, has his fingers curled tightly around the stem of his wine glass. His knuckles are practically white, the pressure of his grip betraying the storm raging inside him.

He hasn’t touched much of his food, and barely spoke beyond a few clipped replies to you. He had really only responded to Director Chun all night. But it’s nothing new. You have long learned to recognize this silence; it’s the same, bitter one that had stretched between you in the months before you left him.

You don’t know why you told Joshua you could handle going to this. Why, after everything, did you let Seungcheol pull you into a setting so painfully intimate, so reminiscent of the past? The last time the two of you were in a restaurant like this, he had left for 40 minutes to take a call outside.

Seungcheol swirls his drink absentmindedly, watching the ice shift in the glass before finally speaking. “You look well.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Small talk? Really?”

His jaw tightens, and he sets his glass down with a quiet thud. “Would you rather we skip the pleasantries?”

“I’d rather we not pretend this is anything other than what it is.”

“And what is it?”

You lift your chin. “You tell me.”

Seungcheol exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. He looks at you—really looks at you—for the first time since you sat down, and it sends a shiver down your spine. It’s the same expression he made when you were in his arms, four years ago.

The one that made you feel like the only person in the world. The one that he used to assure you that he loved you.

And you hate yourself, because you can’t help but remember that he looked so good when he was yours. Worse, you can’t help but notice how he’s still devastatingly handsome.

Only now, his gaze is shadowed with something darker. Something unresolved.

“You know, when you told me you wanted to end things, I could’ve accepted it,” he says, voice steady, but his fingers twitch slightly against the table.

You swallow roughly.

“I could’ve accepted it if you said you just fell out of love with me,” he continues, “But then.” He takes a deep breath. “But then, you told me it was for my own good. That I wouldn’t be able to handle long distance.”

Your hands grip your wine glass. You want to say something, but you don’t know where to even start.

“You told me you loved me, and then…” he trails, before shakily saying, “abandoned me, because I couldn’t handle it?” He dips his head low, hands joining like he’s about to make a prayer.

“Cheol, I—”

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

Seungcheol stares intensely at his half-eaten steak, a strand of hair coming down from his forehead to poke at his eyes. Despite yourself, your hand instinctively lurches to tuck it behind his ears, before you quickly jolt it back. A cloud of shame begins to envelope your mind. It’s not fair. Why does your body remember him so well, even after he broke your heart?

You swallow thickly, and he takes a shaky breath before speaking again. “And you know what, that wasn’t even the worst part. What was worse, was—”

He gets choked up, then clenches his hands into fists to ground himself. “What’s worse, was what you said at the end.”

You furrow your brows, thinking back to all those years ago, right after you told him that he could finally focus on his work, and right before you walked away from him.

────୨ৎ──── Four Years Ago

“I’m sorry for wasting your time,” you whispered. You didn’t dare to look at him. “I’m sorry I made you miss that convention for my birthday.” You sniffled, voice breaking. “You shouldn’t have had to do that. I’m sorry I made you watch those stupid movies, and that I made you go out when you didn’t want to. I should’ve been more considerate of your dreams, Cheol. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I only realized it now. I should’ve—”

You exhaled deeply, blinking your newest tears away. They fell down your cheeks in streams. “You won’t have to worry about that kind of useless stuff anymore, okay? You don’t need to deal with me anymore. I’m sorry you had to handle all of that for so long. I, I really lo…”

You bit down on your lower lip, blinking desperately to get rid of your blurry vision. “I hope you get into the accelerator, Cheol. I know how hard you’ve worked for it. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

One last time, you smiled at him weakly, not meeting his eyes. “Goodbye, Cheol.”

And then you turned your back from him, walking away from the love of your life, partly because you really did wish him well on his startup journey, and mostly because you knew he was only with you out of obligation to himself—because he never loved you, anyway.

────୨ৎ────

“Oh,” you say, eyes feeling strangely prickly.

“I love—I loved you,” Seungcheol says, clutching his chest. He exhales roughly. “Did you not… see that?”

You blink rapidly.

His throat bobs as he swallows, eyes darting away for a brief moment. “I had plans for us,” he admits, voice quiet but strained.

At the sight of his clear pain, your stomach twists uncomfortably. “Plans?”

He nods slowly, still refusing to meet your eyes. The candlelight on the table flickers between you, casting shadows that dance across his face, highlighting the tension in his furrowed brow.

His mouth parts as if he’s about to say something—something important—but then he stops himself.

You reach across the table instinctively, your fingertips grazing his wrist. “Seungcheol. Don’t do this to me.”

He tenses beneath your touch but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he finally looks at you, and the sheer weight of emotion in his gaze nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. There is something so much in his eyes—anger, regret, sadness, and a deep emotion you haven’t dared call love in years. All tangled together in a way that makes it impossible to separate one from the other.

“I was going to propose to you,” he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath hitches. For a second, the world tilts, the steady hum of the restaurant fading into white noise. You blink, your mind scrambling to process the weight of his words. “What?”

Seungcheol lets out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head as if mocking himself. “I had the ring. I had everything planned out.” He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I was just… waiting for the right time.”

A sharp, painful lump forms in your throat. “Cheol—”

“But you left before I could,” he cuts in, his voice breaking at the edges. His eyes are glassy now, raw with unshed emotion. “You thought…you thought I didn’t love you enough. But I did. I loved you so much I—” He sucks in a shaky breath, his hands balling into fists on the table. “I was trying so hard to build a future for us. I wanted to give you everything.”

Tears burn behind your eyes, and your hands are still on his arm, but they’re shaking. “I didn’t need ‘everything,’” you whisper. “I just needed you.”

His face crumples for a split second before he forces his expression blank again. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Silence stretches between you, thick with everything you had never said to each other. The weight of missed moments, of love given but not received in the way it was needed, settles over the two of you like a monstrous thunderstorm.

You swallow down the sob threatening to break free from your throat. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

His voice is hoarse, like he has swallowed glass. “Would it have changed anything?”

You want to say yes. You want to believe that if he had just told you, things would have been different. But deep down, you aren’t sure. Because the truth was, you had already been slipping away from each other long before you had walked out the door.

You had told him you were leaving him so he could focus on his work. You had told yourself you were leaving him because he didn’t love you anymore. So, would you have really believed him if he had proposed to you? You’re not sure, but there’s no point in analyzing the hypothetical what-ifs, really.

Because now, looking at the man who had once been your world, you wonder if you had ever really left him at all.

────୨ৎ──── Three Years Ago

It was Seungcheol’s birthday. It hit you while you were at the grocery store, in the fresh produce section.

You saw cherries.

You cried.

Later that day, your finger twitched over his contact on your phone, before falling to your hips.

He was probably busy. He hadn’t texted or called you since the breakup, after all. He definitely wouldn’t want to hear from you even if he wasn’t busy, anyway.

“I’m sorry,” you said out loud, knowing that the person who needed to hear it most wasn’t there. “I miss you. Happy birthday.”

────୨ৎ────

You blink, and suddenly you’re outside. There’s a chilly wind blowing against you, making you shiver. When you try to take a step forward, you find your body is too sluggish to move much.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” Seungcheol says concernedly, his warm, strong hands finding an all too familiar spot against your waist.

“I’m fine,” you say, though your teetering body suggests otherwise.

Somewhere between watching Seungcheol laugh at Director Chun’s obviously not funny jokes and trying to give your hand something to do instead of ball into fists hearing his confession, you had drunk far too much of the expensive bottle of wine that the director had bought for the three of you.

Seungcheol says your name like it’s a warning, tone firm.

But you can’t help but laugh. You’re too close to him now. And oh, he’s so warm. Instinctively, your body presses against him, because it’s familiar and comforting and something you’ve subconsciously been craving for the past four years with every fiber of your body.

“I missed you,” you blurt.

Seungcheol swallows roughly.

“Fuck, don’t…” He can’t even bring himself to finish the sentence. “How did you get here? Taxi?”

You shake your head. “Too much money. Subway.”

“I’ll take you home, okay? Where are you staying now?” He squeezes your waist.

“Mmh.” Thinking, you close your eyes, fully leaning into his touch.

Three days ago, the company told you to move out of the original apartment they’d placed you in two weeks ago, and although you’d memorized how to get to your new place using the subway, you had yet to memorize the exact address. You’d always looked at your phone to double check, thinking that you’d be fine if you were stranded, since you’d always have your phone on you. Unfortunately, though, you hadn’t considered that you’d be lost if your phone died.

“That’s not an address, sweetheart.” He inhales sharply, realizing his mistake after it leaves his lips.

“I’m sorry,” you say with a frown, tears welling in your eyes. “Don’t remember.”

Here you were, wasting his time again. You’d left him four years ago because you were a hindrance to his career, and now you’re doing it again. Old habits die hard, don’t they?

You sniffle, “I’ll sober up soon, don’t worry. You can just leave me here. I’ll walk to the subway.”

Seungcheol’s throat bobs. “Hey, hey, don’t be sorry. I got you, okay? I’ll take you back to my place, if that’s okay?”

You nod, your voice small. “Okay.”

He breathes a sigh of relief.

Before you know it, Seungcheol has escorted you into the passenger seat of his car, and you’re on your way back to the house you had called your home only four years ago.

“Did you miss me?” you ask childishly, staring at the driver with sleepy eyes.

His Adam's apple bobs up and down.

For a moment, you don’t think he’ll answer. But then, he says softly, “I did.”

“Oh,” you say, and then you feel your eyelids get heavier. You let them close.

Right before you fall asleep, you catch him whispering something that sounds a lot like, “I missed you so much, sweetheart.”

────୨ৎ──── Six Months Ago

You swallowed. “In the fall?”

“Yes,” Director Chun said. “I’ll be heading over to the Seoul branch as well, for a few months at the very least. I promise you’ll be under one of our best. Department Head Choi Seungcheol is known for being collaborative. I’m sure the synergy will be great between the two of you.”

You froze. Surely, not.

“Choi Seungcheol?” you asked breathily.

“Yes. Do you know each other?”

“No,” you said, far too quickly.

“Ah, I see. Perhaps he was impressed by the work you did with the Jeons,” the director said with a smile. “He requested you directly.”

Oh.

────୨ৎ────

Sleep is supposed to be relaxing, isn’t it? So why does it feel like your chest is going to cave in on itself, like a big boulder has plopped itself down on you?

You open your eyes quickly, only to be met with a mess of short, dark brown hair.

You try to blow on the hair, only to feel it enter your mouth. It’s horribly dry.

“Ack,” you spit.

And then it occurs to you that your hair has never tasted like this, or looked like this, for that matter.

You try moving one of your arms to get rid of the annoying strands, only to find that it has also been rendered immobile. You tense your core, trying to flop like a worm, but it’s of no use.

You furrow your brows, straining as hard as you can, but nothing happens.

For a moment, you wonder if you’re having a nightmare.

And then the boulder moves.

Your eyes widen into saucers. There’s only one explanation for this. You’ve only ever known one man who gives bear hugs in his sleep like this.

“Choi Seungcheol?”

“Fuck,” it groans. “Thought I told you not to call me that, sweetheart.”

You close your eyes, wondering if you’re still dreaming. But when you open them again, you see Seungcheol’s face.

Sleep lines are adorning his left cheek, and he blinks at you slowly. His pink lips are turned down in a slight pout, and the sight of him is so adorable, it makes you want to scream.

“Did you…” you pause, mind racking an explanation. “Fall asleep on top of me?”

“You said you were cold,” he says slowly, eyes half-closed, voice deep.

“Oh,” you say, then flush, feeling heat rush up the back of your neck and reach your ears. Trying to avoid eye contact with him, your eyes stray to your collarbone, and you see that you’re still wearing last night’s clothes. “Wait, did you let me into your bed with dirty clothes?”

“Mmph,” he says, rubbing his face into the crook of your neck.

“Wow,” is all you can manage. He never let you do that when you were dating.

“Go back to sleep, love,” Seungcheol mumbles.

“Can’t breathe, Cheol,” you groan, patting his back. “Too heavy, baby.”

He groans but shifts off of you, then cuddles up next to you, hands finding your waist immediately. “Five more minutes.”

“Mmh,” you sigh contentedly.

And as you close your eyes again, it occurs to you that Seungcheol is your ex, and that the two of you are definitely doing things that exes should not be doing.

────୨ৎ──── Two Weeks Ago

You swallowed your pride. You extended an arm out to him first.

“Department Head Choi Seungcheol, it’s a pleasure to work with you.”

You spat his first and last name out like venom, knowing all too well that he hated being called by his full name.

He stared at your outstretched hand, then scoffed.

Fuck.

────୨ৎ────

When you wake up again, you’re alone in Seungcheol’s bed. Out of habit, your arm moves to pat the other side of the bed.

For a moment, your mind flashes back to the lonely mornings you had with him four years ago. The days when the first thing you did after waking up was to check the other side of the bed, only for it to be cold. The hope of it all had fractured your heart slowly, but surely.

But today, for some reason, Seungcheol’s side is lukewarm.

Confused at the lingering warmth, you sit up in his bed, rolling back the covers.

Is it possible that he’s still here?

Then, you smell the distinct scent of ramen through the door to his room, which has been left slightly ajar. Planning on checking the kitchen, you move to get off the bed. But before your feet reach the ground, Seungcheol walks in.

He’s holding a tiny desk, the kind made for breakfast in bed. On it is a bowl of steaming ramen and a glass of water.

“Morning,” he says with a shy smile, and oh—oh, it’s so full of endearment and joy and hope, of all things.

God, something about it is just so, so pure and domestic, it makes your chest constrict. Seungcheol had never made you breakfast in bed when you had dated, because he had always been the first to leave in the morning.

But here he is, like he plans on making up for everything starting now.

And with how bright his smile is, your heart is aching to just let him.

“Is this… for me?” you ask in a small voice. Of course, it can’t possibly be for anyone but you, but something in you wants Seungcheol to admit it.

Seungcheol nods.

“Thank you,” you say.

“Ramen’s your favorite hangover meal, right?”

You nod slowly, and Seungcheol grins, like he’s proud of himself for getting it right. But something about it pokes a nerve. What use is there in remembering it now, when you’re not together anymore?

He watches you eat slowly, and you raise your eyebrows at the taste.

“It’s really good,” you say between bites, giving a thumbs up.

“Good,” he says, making intense eye contact with you.

He’s completely focused on you, phone and computer completely out of sight, and it makes you squirm. Now that his attention is on you without any distractions, it’s too easy to see how gorgeous he is.

You flush under his attention. “Stop looking at me,” you mumble.

“Don’t wanna,” he says dreamily, lying on his stomach on the bed, looking up at you with doe eyes.

You giggle, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.

Seungcheol reaches out to swat your hands away from your face, taking the opportunity to hold your hands. When you look at him again, you’re taken aback by how serious he suddenly is.

Your laughter fades.

He takes a deep breath, and your heart sinks. You already know what he’s going to say.

“Can we… try ag—”

“Cheol,” you gently cut him off, withdrawing your hands from his familiar grasp. “Let’s not… we’re not…”

“Why not?” He looks at you innocently, with wide eyes.

You take a shaky breath. “I can’t do this again, Cheol. It’s not good for me, and it’s not good for you.”

At first, he just blinks at you, as if he misheard. But then, something in his expression hardens. “Who says you’re not good for me?”

“What?”

“Who says you’re not good for me?”

“Cheol,” you say with a sigh. “Let’s not do this again. It’s not gonna work.”

“Who says?” his voice breaks.

────୨ৎ──── One Week Ago

“Again,” he said dryly. “Redo the business model.”

You swallowed back your anger. “Yes, Department Head Choi Seungcheol. Is there anything else you would like me to do?”

“Care more,” he said.

You frowned. “I have my full focus on this project, sir.”

“Care more,” he repeated.

────୨ৎ────

“I’ve changed,” he says frantically. “I can prove it to you, I promise.”

Your chest constricts.

“I won’t ever let you be lonely again, I promise. I won’t let it happen, I swear. I’m so, so sorry I hurt you back then, but I’m not the same man you left. I will never hurt you again.”

You swallow roughly, the ramen leaving a salty aftertaste in your mouth.

“Seungcheol…”

He shuts his eyes tightly, like you’ve wounded him.

“Please, call me Cheol again. Please, I can’t stand to hear you call me that.”

“It’s your name,” you tell him gently.

“No, it’s not. To you, I’m Cheol,” he insists stubbornly, crossing his arms. You swallow at the sight. Since when was his body so defined? You have to look away from his pronounced biceps to regain your will.

“Look at me,” he says with a frown. You obliged and he continues, “Sweetheart, please. I promise I will never hurt you again. Please, please, take me back.”

On the bed, he’s kneeling now, hands drawn together as if in deep prayer.

“I won’t let work get in the way of loving you. It was horrible and so stupid of me and I’m so, so sorry but it was only when I lost you that I realized I forgot what the point of working was. It was to provide for you, and I couldn’t do that if you were gone because I didn’t properly show you the love you deserved. I’m so, so sorry, my love. Please give me another chance?”

Seungcheol looks at you with so much sadness, but the history you had with his ghost makes you unsure about what to do.

“I don’t know, Cheol…”

He smiles weakly, resigned. “At least you’re back to calling me Cheol, though. Right?”

You nod slowly.

All of a sudden, Seungcheol lights up, like a last-minute godsend of an idea came to his mind. “If it’s too hard to say yes now, how about taking it slow?”

“What does that mean?” His definition of taking it slow probably isn’t like yours.

“I can take you out on some dates, and then you could decide?”

Your heart sinks. He’s so hopeful—eyebrows raised, eyes wide, mouth parted.

You don’t know if you have it in you to say no.

You press your lips together.

Seungcheol must have sensed danger in your face, because he immediately interjects with a rushed confession before you even open your mouth.

“I love you. So much. I loved you then, and I loved you after you left, and I love you now. There was no one after you, you know?” He looks a bit crazed, hands scrunching the blankets roughly.

Your heart jolts.

He continues, “You were everything to me—and still are. There wasn’t a single day that I didn’t think about you. But I couldn’t bring myself to reach out because I thought you hated me.”

He’s not exactly wrong. You did hate him. Then again, there’s a fine line between love and hate. Both are powerful emotions that require you to care about the person in question.

“I even quit the startup because I realized it had eaten up all my time, ‘cause it had taken you away from me.”

You gasp. This was the answer to why Choi Seungcheol, self-made entrepreneur who insisted on refusing to work for anyone but himself, had strangely become the department head of a company that he never had a hand in creating.

“I was,” he sighs self-deprecatingly, “unemployed for a while. Until I heard you were working here, and then I made it my mission to climb the ranks until I could ask for you to get transferred to Seoul. And when you accepted, I was so…”

Your heart breaks a little for him.

“I thought it was a sign.” Hesitantly, he clarifies, “That you might want to try again.”

You inhale sharply. There he goes, again. Talking so sweetly. Back then, that was all he ever did to show you that he loved you. It wasn’t enough then, so why would it be enough now?

At your silence, Seungcheol hangs his head, and your fingers twitch, wanting to reach out to him.

Except it’s different now, isn’t it? He’s finally doing all the things you once wished he would. Isn’t that what you wanted from him? You don’t trust him yet. But he’s trying, now, and every muscle in your body aches with an impossibly deep desire to pull him into your arms.

You exhale, and out with your breath goes your final worries.

Your lips part before you’ve fully decided what to say.

"Okay."

It’s barely a whisper, but it might as well be a strike of thunder with the way Seungcheol’s head snaps up. His eyes widen, mouth parting like he’s afraid he misheard you.

"Okay?" His voice trembles, cautious, like one wrong move could shatter whatever fragile thing is forming between you.

Your throat tightens. The weight of this—of him—presses down on you, but you nod anyway.

For a second, he doesn’t breathe. Then, his face crumples, and the sheer relief in his expression makes something in you splinter. His hands twitch where they rest on the blankets, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. He’s waiting—because this time, he knows he has to let you come to him.

And you do.

Slowly, hesitantly, you lean forward. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t move away. Your forehead brushes his, a soft press that feels like a heartbeat between you. You feel the warmth of his skin, the way his breath mingles with yours in the inches of space that remain.

Seungcheol exhales shakily, like he’s been holding it in for years. His hands hover near your waist, unsure, unsteady. He doesn’t pull you closer—he’s learned now—but he craves it.

Your eyes flutter shut, leaning into his touch, telling yourself it’d only be for a second. Just long enough to let yourself feel him, really feel him, without the weight of the past crushing you.

His voice is barely above a whisper, breath fanning across your lips. “Sweetheart…”

You could fall apart at the way he says it, so quiet, so reverent—like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he speaks too loud.

Your heart aches for more, but your mind reminds you of how he had left scars in your heart. For now, this form of affection would have to be enough.

After a few minutes in his arms, you reluctantly pull away to check the address of your new apartment on your finally-charged phone. Seungcheol drops you off, walking you to your door. You don’t invite him in, and he doesn’t ask. But something about the way he looked at you, right before you walked inside your apartment, lingers in your mind long after he leaves. He’d looked at you like you’d hung every glittering star in the sky.

Four years ago, you had decided that this gaze was something he’d manufactured while putting up with you. Maybe, you were wrong.

────୨ৎ────

Seungcheol keeps his promise of taking things slow. He’d arranged for you to meet him at a cafe the next day, and he’s already there when you get there. It’s a small, cozy place tucked into a quieter part of the city, the kind with warm lighting and the scent of freshly ground coffee drifting in the air.

You hesitate for a second when you see him through the window, seated at a booth near the back, fingers idly tapping against the ceramic cup in front of him. Then, before you can second-guess yourself, you push open the door.

His eyes meet yours instantly, and for a moment, he looks breathless—like he’s just as nervous as you are. But then he smiles. It’s a small, careful thing, but it makes your heart drum a little faster anyway. As you approach, he stands up, hand on his heart.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft, like he’s afraid to scare you away.

“Hey,” you reply, sliding into the seat across from him.

The booth is familiar. For a second, you’re struck by the memory of late-night conversations, of stolen kisses over half-finished drinks. You really were deep in love, back then.

You shake the thought away as Seungcheol gestures toward the counter.

“Still the same order?” he asks, the corner of his mouth lifting in something that isn’t quite a smirk but close enough that you recognize it as one of his signature expressions. You raise an eyebrow.

“You think I’d change it?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, tilting his head slightly. “A lot of time has passed.”

You exhale a small laugh. “Yeah, well. Some things stay the same.”

Something shifts in his gaze, a flicker of relief, of hope, before he nods. He waves down a barista and places the order without hesitation—exactly how you like it. When the cup is finally set in front of you, you find yourself staring at it for a beat too long, a strange warmth pooling in your chest.

“Thanks,” you murmur, wrapping your fingers around the cup.

Seungcheol watches you, his own drink forgotten, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he leans slightly forward, forearms resting on the table as he asks, “So, what’s new?”

You take a sip, letting the warmth settle in your stomach before answering. “Well, I have a wedding to go to next month.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, intrigued. “Oh?”

“Yeah. My coworker from the New York branch, Lee Chan, is getting married next month. I gotta fly out for it.” You swirl your drink absentmindedly, watching the steam curl into the air. “It’s kind of crazy. Feels like yesterday he was complaining about bad Tinder dates, and now he’s getting married.”

Seungcheol huffs a small laugh. “Guess he finally found the right person.”

“Yeah,” you say, a little softer. “Guess he did.”

There’s a pause, and you realize that for all the implications, for the way the topic is naturally leading to the idea of a plus one, you don’t bring it up. And, notably, neither does he. The question lingers, unspoken but present. Instead, Seungcheol shifts the conversation.

“You still baking?”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “If you can even call it that.”

He grins. “That bad?”

“Worse.” You sigh dramatically. “I was trying to perfect my chocolate chip cookies, right? Like, I found this recipe online, and it looked completely foolproof. But somehow, I nearly burned down my apartment.”

His amusement vanishes instantly. “What?”

“I mean, not literally,” you backtrack quickly, waving a hand. “But there was a lot of smoke. And my oven might hate me now.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrow in concern. “That apartment’s new, isn’t it?”

You nod. “Yeah, company orders. Still trying to get used to it.”

He exhales through his nose, tilting his head as he studies you. “Isn’t it hard? Being in such an unfamiliar place?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh, uh, I guess?”

His tone is casual—too casual—but you’re not oblivious. You see the way he watches you intently, the way he’s gauging your reaction. He thinks he’s being subtle, but it’s clear what he’s hinting at. Someday, maybe you won’t have to be in an unfamiliar place. Maybe you could come back home, to me.

You let out a small breath, looking down at your coffee. “It’s fine,” you say after a moment. “It’s just an adjustment.”

Seungcheol doesn’t push, but his fingers tighten slightly around his cup. “If you ever need anything…”

“I know,” you say, and you mean it. Because for the first time in a long time, it feels like he actually means it, too.

The conversation shifts again, moving from baking disasters to random anecdotes about work, about old stories that slip out without either of you realizing. And throughout it all, you notice something: Seungcheol is listening.

Not just nodding along, not just waiting for his turn to speak. He’s really listening—leaning in, responding at the right moments, his gaze locked on yours with a kind of attentiveness that makes your stomach flip in a way you don’t want to acknowledge yet.

It’s different. He’s different.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s why this doesn’t feel like a mistake.

Fuck, do you love him, still?

────୨ৎ────

After the weekend cafe date with Seungcheol came the work week, much to your displeasure. Today has been an especially exhausting day. The kind that seeps into your bones, weighing down your limbs, making even the simple act of unlocking your apartment door feel like a chore. You barely manage to kick off your shoes before collapsing onto the couch, groaning into the cushions.

You didn’t even hear your phone buzzing at first. It takes a few rings before you muster enough energy to blindly fumble for it.

“Hello?” Your voice is muffled, with your face buried against the pillow.

“You sound dead,” comes Seungcheol’s voice, laced with amusement but tinged with concern.

“Feel like it too,” you groan. “Long day.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then, softly, “Have you eaten?”

“I had lunch,” you say.

Another pause. Then, decisively, “I’m coming over.”

“What? No, you don’t have to—”

“Too late. I’m already on my way.”

And just like that, the call ends. You blink owlishly at your screen, a bit too drained to call him back in protest.

Twenty minutes later, a knock comes from your door.

When you open it, Seungcheol stands there, hair still slightly tousled from the wind outside, carrying a takeout bag in one hand and a six-pack of your favorite drinks in the other.

“You used to drink these when you were stressed,” he says, holding up the pack as if that explains everything.

Your heart does something funny in your chest, but do your best to ignore it. Instead, you step aside, letting him in for the first time.

Seungcheol makes himself comfortable in your kitchen, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He unpacks the food and searches for utensils without asking you for help. And before you know it, you’re sitting at your small dining table, warm food in front of you, while he nudges a drink toward your hand.

The silence is comfortable. You didn’t realize how much you needed this until now—until the tension in your shoulders starts to ease, until the simple act of eating next to someone who cares about you makes the world feel a little less heavy.

At some point, you sigh, rolling your neck to work out a kink. You hadn’t meant for it to be noticeable, but Seungcheol caught it immediately. Without a word, he shifts his chair closer and places a warm hand against your shoulder, thumb pressing gently into the tension there.

You freeze.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “I got you. Just relax.”

And somehow, without even thinking, you do.

It isn’t grand, or dramatic, really. It’s just the quiet comfort of someone who knows you better than you thought he did. Who is all of a sudden remembering the little things, after all these years. He eases the weight of the world off your shoulders without even trying.

You don’t pull away.

And neither does he.

────୨ৎ────

A week later, and the workday is winding down. But the plans you’ve been looking forward to—a nice dinner that feels like a step forward, another stitch in the frayed edges between you and Seungcheol—suddenly teeter on the edge of collapse.

You’re gathering your things when Director Chun steps into the office, looking around before his gaze lands on Seungcheol.

"Department Head Choi Seungcheol," Chun calls, his voice even but firm. "I need you to stay back for a bit. The New York office just called me about a misalignment between Mr. Han’s vision and the work we submitted to their team. We need to smooth it over before tomorrow morning. I estimate it won’t take very long."

Your breath catches. Director Chun always sugarcoats things. It wouldn’t be just a couple more minutes, it’d be several hours of extra work.

It’s just a few words, a simple request by the director. But it’s enough to send you spiraling.

Because you've been here before.

You know how this story ends.

Your grip tightens around the strap of your bag as a million thoughts flood in, rapid and overwhelming. He’s going to say yes. Of course, he’s going to say yes.

Work will always come first. It always has, always will.

He’ll put you second again, and you’ll be left waiting, just like before.

The words you want to say—please don’t go, pick me, just this once—stick like molasses to the back of your throat.

You can’t stay here to hear him confirm it. You can’t bear to watch it happen all over again.

You walk away before Seungcheol answers the director, your feet carrying you toward the stairwell in a daze. The second the heavy door shuts behind you, a shaky breath escapes your lips. Your fingers press against your temples as you squeeze your eyes shut, willing away the sting that threatens to turn into tears.

Your chest constricts so harshly, you think you might be having a heart attack.

It shouldn't hurt this much.

But it does.

The past and present blur together in your mind—memories of cold dinners, of unanswered texts, of waiting and waiting and waiting. Until you stopped waiting altogether.

Why on earth did you think that things would be any different, now?

The door swings open with a rush of air.

"Sweetheart?"

Your stomach drops.

Seungcheol steps inside, eyes scanning the dimly lit stairwell before landing on you. His brows pull together in concern as he closes the distance between you.

"Hey," he murmurs, reaching out hesitantly. "What’s wrong?"

You shake your head, stepping back before his fingers can brush against your arm. "You don’t have to be here, Cheol."

He frowns. "What are you talking about?"

Defeated, you let out a humorless laugh, gesturing vaguely. "You don’t have to chase after me just to make me feel better about you choosing work over dinner. I get it. I know how this goes."

A pause. Then, softly, "Is that what you think happened?"

The sincerity in his voice makes you falter.

You blink at him, your heart pounding, confusion creeping in through the cracks of your resolve. "What do you mean?"

Seungcheol exhales, running a hand through his hair before stepping closer. This time, you don’t move away.

"I told Director Chun I couldn’t stay," he says, voice steady. "I told him I had a prior commitment, and that I wasn’t going to break it."

Your eyes widen comically. "What?"

His lips twitch into something that’s not quite a smile, but close. "I said no, sweetheart. I told him I had somewhere more important to be."

More important.

Your throat tightens.

"You—" The words catch, and you swallow hard, trying to process it. "You said no?"

"I did." His gaze softens, the weight of the moment settling between you. "I told you I wouldn’t let work come between us again."

His voice is quiet, but it carries years’ worth of unspoken apologies.

Of love that had once been misplaced, misdirected, but never truly lost.

Your eyes flicker over his face, searching. And the truth is written in the way he looks at you—open, unwavering, as if he’s willing you to believe him.

And you do.

It’s terrifying how easily you do.

The wall you’d built, the one meant to protect you from this very moment, begins to crumble under the warmth in his gaze.

Your breath shudders. "Cheol…"

His hand lifts, hovering near your cheek, close enough that you can feel the heat of it but not touching. His wide, sparkling eyes look eagerly into yours—giving you the choice, letting you decide.

Your chest tightens at his cute patience, the silent question lingering between you.

The space between you grows smaller.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, you’re impossibly close, the tips of your noses nearly brushing. His breath fans over your lips, and your eyes flutter shut.

He doesn’t move to kiss you, but that’s okay. Because you’re finally ready to cross that line.

Tilting your chin up into him, your lips meet, and the warmth of him grounds you in a way that nothing else ever replaced, or ever could. His lips are so, so, soft, and as he melts into the kiss, he lets out a small content sigh. Everything about the kiss is familiar, and yet, somehow different. It’s charged with a kind of electric buzz, the tension from the past weeks finally coming to a head.

For a moment, the world is still. You only see Seungcheol.

Then, in a voice so soft it almost disappears into the quiet of the stairwell, Seungcheol parts from your lips for just a centimeter, whispering, "I meant what I said. You don’t have to worry anymore. I’m 110% for you, I love you."

You close your eyes, exhaling against his skin, relishing his touch. You say the next words with a full chest, “I love you so much, Cheol.”

Because for the first time in a long time, you believe him.

Masterlist

Author's Note: did u get the title?? seungcheol's the python bc he makes ur chest constrict! anywayz happy valentines day <3

Disclaimer: nothing i write is representative of how svt acts off camera, take their names as stand-ins for oc's!!

Taglist: @syluslittlecrows - @junplusone - @fragmentof-indifference - @junniesoleilkth - @woncheecks - @peachypie97 - @viciousdarlings - @11zzyy - @thepoopdokyeomtouched - @dmstoyangyang - @christinewithluv - @snowcake666 - @rjreins - @namk00kie - @homelouisgirl - @slvrstrs - @jimintopiaaaa - @coupshour - @babycaratdeul

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inlovewithquestionablecharacters · 3 days ago

Text

Cho Sang Woo X F!Reader: A blast from the past

a/n: this was originally supposed to be a Gi hun x Sang-woo X reader but it became something else.

Warnings: smut, kissing, Sang woo being an ass, fluff, jealousy, fingering, penetration (p in v), mentions of attempted suicide, domish Sang woo, fighting, no use of y/n, not proofread, female reader

Word count: 3656 (holy moly)

Fate is a funny thing. Here you were, trapped inside a game of death with none other than your childhood best friends. You hadn’t seen them in ages but the moment you laid eyes on the two men you recognized them instantly. You raced over to them, a smile on your face as you watched the men's eyes widen in recognition.

“Oh my god! Sang-woo, look who it is!”

Gi hun wasted no time, immediately pulling you into a warm embrace. He smelled different then you remembered. The sugary scent that he had when he was a child was completely gone, replaced with a metallic scent that reminded you of coins. Gi hun pulled out of the embrace, his arms holding onto your shoulders as he turned to glance at Sang-woo with an easy smile. The other man gazed at you with an impassive expression. He had always had a sober look, even as a child. You smiled at him but he didn't return the gesture, opting instead to push his glasses up.

“What are you doing here?”

The emotionless tone in which he asked the question made a twinge of anger shoot through you. He sounded like he was judging you.

“I could ask you the same thing, Mister SNU Business School graduate.”

Gi hun looked between the two of you, noticing the obvious tension. In a desperate attempt to stop this conversation before it became an argument, something that often happened when you and Sang-woo had any sort of interaction, Gi hun placed his hands on either one of your shoulders. You looked at him, your belly warming at the sight of his goofy smile.

“Looks like we’re going to be playing some games. Should be fun right?”

You glanced at the doll at the edge of the room.

“I was always quite good at red light, green light.”

Sang-woo shrugged Gi hun's hand from his shoulder before silently moving away from the two of you. You scoffed at the action.

“What’s up his ass?”

“I think he’s embarrassed that you saw him like this.”

“But I'm in here too. And so are you.”

“Yeah well, I never had a promising future laid out for me.”

Your brows furrowed at his words but Gi hun just shrugged, as if he knew the affirmation was true.

“Plus, he always wanted to impress you. Even as kids.”

Before you could question Gi huns words a voice rang out through the room, telling you the games were about to begin.

Your hands shook as you walked back into the dormitory. Blood stained your face and clothes. You looked like a zombie, stumbling around in silence until you reached your bed. You knew the boys had made it too, you’d gotten a quick glance at them as you walked back to the dormitory but you were far too out of it to do anything about it. Luckily you didn’t have to search for them. They found you instead.

You raised your head as a sudden darkness filled your field of vision. Sang-woo stood before you, his face covered in sweat. Somehow he’d managed to keep his glasses on during the game. He didn’t say anything, his eyes moving over the blood on your body. A shrill call of your name rang out from behind you, causing you to look over his shoulder. Gi hun raced towards you, pushing past Sang-woo so he could get to you. He kneeled before you, his hands moving to hold onto your face.

“Are you okay?”

His eyes seemed to notice the blood for the first time, eyebrows raising with horror.

“Are you hurt? Did you-”

“It’s not hers.”

Sang-woos voice made the two of you look up at him.

“What?”

“The blood Gi hun. It’s not hers.”

Your lip started shaking. Before you could stop them the tears began flowing from your eyes. A small sob made its way from your lips, causing Gi hun’s head to snap back to you. He watched you with wide eyes for a moment before his hands moved to tug you into him. He pulled you to the floor, holding you in a fierce hug.

“It’s okay. We’re okay.”

Sang-woo watched the exchange with a heavy heart. He watched the way your hands clawed at Gi huns jacket, desperately trying to cling onto something. He wanted to move but he didn't feel like he should. You were probably angry at him, he’d been a dick to you after all. He thought of moving away, leaving you and Gi hun to your tender embrace. But before he could turn around your voice ripped through the silence. You called out his name in a rough whisper, voice a barely contained sob. You hand moved from Gi hun’s jacket, extending it to him in invitation. Gi hun unclinged himself from your body, allowing him to look at Sang-woo. Sang-woo looked from your tear stained face to Gi hun's wide eyed expression and before he could stop himself he was sinking to the floor before you, allowing you to pull him into a tight hug.

You were sitting on your bed, one of the boys on either side of you. Gi hun held one of your hands in his lap. Sangwoo’s gaze drifted to your hands ever so often, a small twinge of jealousy making its way into his mind. He didn’t know why he’d suddenly started caring about your caresses with Gi hun. Even as children you’d always been closer to the other boy, a consequence of Sangwoos cold nature. But now he wished you’d cling onto him the way you clung to Gi hun. The thought was ripped out of his head when the alarm sounded.

During the whole voting process your hand remained glued to Gi huns. You watched player after player vote until finally it was Sangwoos' turn. You gave him a small smile as he walked over to the buttons. Your face dropped as you watched him press “O”. You could feel Gi hun's disappointment beside you but he pushed it down to whisper in your ear.

“It’s okay. We still have a chance.”

You nodded, eyes never moving away from the back of Sang-woos head.

Your body crashed onto the harsh ground with a thud. You groaned as you tried to lift your body up. You couldn't see a thing and your body was bound at an awkward angle. You felt a pair of hands move against your face. You twisted away, a small shriek leaving your lips.

“Stop wiggling around.I’m trying to help.”

You recognized his voice instantly. A small part of you wanted to keep wiggling just to make his life harder, but the cold air on your body was becoming very uncomfortable so you stayed still. The moment both of you were free Sang-woo made his way over to his bag, pulling out his clothes. You stared at him in disbelief. He seemed to notice your eyes on him because he turned around.

“You should get dressed. You’ll get sick.”

You let out a scoff.

“Like you give a shit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You voted to stay!”

You’d made your way over to him, hands moving to tug the bag out of his hand before throwing it at the floor. Sang-woo gave you a tired look.

“I’m really not in the mood-”

“Oh! I’m sorry! You’re not in the mood to listen to what a shit person you are?”

Sang-woo bit into his lips in anger, his head moving to look at the road.

“Don't look away from me!”

You hit his chest with all your might, something you would do when he’d pissed you off.

“What the hell were you thinking huh? People were killed! We were all going to die and you wanted to keep playing? For what? Some extra cash?”

“Extra cash?”

He was angry now. You could tell from the look on his face, the way his lips became a small line as he spoke.

“That money would get rid of my debt!”

“It’s blood money Sang-woo!”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t think about it. I saw your face when they started to fill the piggy bank. You wanted it.”

You shake your head at him.

“You don't know anything about me. You never bothered to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means!”

Your face was so close to his that he could feel your breath on his skin. You were looking up at him with a scowl, your brows furrowed so intensely that the line on your forehead became very predominant. You’d only ever looked at him with such anger once before. He didn’t want to remember that day. His eyes shifted over to your body, gaze catching on the bare skin.He couldn’t help it, he’d always found you rather beautiful. He wanted to keep arguing but he was cold and tired. He knew you would keep this up all night if you had to. You were stubborn like that. So he did the only thing he knew would shut you up. He kissed you.

He tasted like cigarettes, his hands were cold as they grabbed onto your waist, pulling flush against his body. Your brain stopped working for a moment, the feeling of his lips was intoxicating but then you seemed to remember that you were mad at him. You shoved him off of you. Your face was flushed, chest rising and falling as you stared at him.

“You’re such a dick Sang-woo.”

With that you’d turned on your heels making your way to the bag that held your clothes. Sang-woo watched you rip it open, removing your clothes from inside before beginning to get dressed. He waited for a moment before beginning to get dressed too.

Your shoulders shook as you walked down the road. You’d been giving Sang-woo the silent treatment ever since you’d both decided you would walk to the nearest convenience store so you could charge your phones. You kept up with Sang-woos pace but it was obvious you were having a hard time with the cold, not that you would ever admit it to him. Sang-woo stopped abruptly. You turned around to look at him.

“What are you doing? We're almost there.”

You watched him take off his suit jacket. He put his hand out to you, offering you the garment. You glanced at the jacket and then up at him. What was his deal? First he treats you like shit, then he kisses you and now he’s giving you his jacket.

“Take it. I know you’re cold.”

You're about to say you’re fine but a strong gust of wind blows causing you to shiver.

“Oh for fucks sake.”

Sang-woo makes his way to you, placing his jacket over your shoulders. You stare up at him as he drapes the jacket over your body. His glasses are slightly falling down his nose so you raise a finger to his face and push them up. He looks at you for a moment, surprised by the action.

“Thanks.”

“You’re still an asshole.”

With that you start walking again, leaving Sang-woo behind with a shocked expression.

It had been a day since you’d left the games. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about that place. Or about Sang-woo. You hated to admit it but even since you’d seen him you’d been plagued by memories of your childhood. You had a crush on Sang-Woo when you were younger. It was hard not to be attracted to him. But as you two grew older he seemed to become more and more distant. One night you had a big fight. It was right before you’d gone off to college and neither one of you had spoken since then. That is until the games brought you back together.

You stood in front of his door, a bag of takeout in your hand as the other moved to ring the doorbell. When there was no sign of an answer you rang again. You waited for him to come to the door but it seemed he wasn't home. With a disappointed sigh you began moving away. Your head snapped back to the door when you heard the lock click.

Sang woo stared at you, his eyes moving to the bag in your hand before moving to glance at your face.

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought maybe you’d like some company…”

You looked at him, noticing the water that dripped from his pants.

“Did you fall into the bathtub?”

Sang-woo moved out of the way, not bothering to answer your question. You entered his apartment, being careful as to not slip on the watery floor. Sang woo trailed behind you in silence. He watched you remove the food from your bag, placing it on the table before turning to look at him.

“You should probably change. You’re all wet.”

He looked down at his feet, watching the water drip from his pants. You watched him, worry filling your chest. You made your way to him. Sang-woo lifted his gaze from the floor as you approached him. The pitiful look you gave him made him feel pathetic.

“Do you want me to help?”

He nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

You moved your hand to his chest, slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt. Once you've managed to get all the buttons you reached beneath the cloth, pushing his shirt and jacket off in one go. The wet fabric landed with a dull thud on the ground. Your hand moved to his waistband, eyes gazing up at him through your lashes. The tension filled the air, making it hard to breathe. You moved slowly, afraid that any harsh move would make Sang-woo react negatively. You began to work on his belt but his hand stopped you. You looked up at him, searching for discomfort in his face.

“Everything okay?”

He nodded, his hand moving to rest on your waist. You gasped as his cold hand made its way beneath the fabric, fingers skimming over the bare skin. He tugged your shirt up a bit, stopping only to look at you for confirmation that this was okay. You nodded at him, not trusting your voice. You lifted your arms, allowing him to tug your shirt off. He looked at you for a while, just talking in the sight of your flushed expression. One of his hands moved to trace your collarbone and you let out a breathy sigh.

“Sang-woo.”

“Hum?”

“Please don’t tease.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

He was. But not on purpose. He was trying to remember every inch of your face. He needed to go back in time, even if just for one night. He wanted to feel like a teenager again. Young and unburdened. His hand moved to hold onto your face, fingers tracing your lips before he leaned down to kiss you. The kiss was gentler than the one he’d given you the night before. Your hands wrapped around his neck, tugging him closer. Your pants began to drench up the water from his as the two of you kissed. You pulled away to breathe and Sang-woo took it as a chance to kiss your neck. You gasped as his tongue moved over your skin. Your hands fumbled against his belt, tugging it off in desperation before moving to pull his pants down. His own hands found their way to your bottoms, pulling them off as well.

The two of you broke apart for a moment, panting as you took in the sight of each other. Your eyes traced over Sang woo's body, you’d seen it hours prior but the circumstances had been very different. You couldn’t help but rub your thighs together as your eyes caught onto his hard on. Sang-Woo's throat was suddenly dry. He’d been planning to kill himself moments ago, if you hadn't knocked he’d probably gone through with it. He pushed the thoughts down, trying to focus on the task at hand. There was a beautiful semi naked woman before him. He wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

With one long stride Sang woo made his way to you, kissing you with a newly found hunger. He pushed you against the wall, his lips swallowing your gasps. His hard on rubbed against your clothed cunt and you couldn’t help but moan. His hand moved down your body, fingers rubbing over your underwear for a moment before pushing it to the side. You gasped as his digits entered you, nails digging into the muscles of his back. The sound your pussy made as he fingered you was down right shameful but you couldn’t get yourself to care. Not when your body buzzed with your upcoming orgasm. Your mouth went slack as Sang woo shifted his hand, allowing him to enter his fingers even deeper.

“I missed you.”

“You’re the one that didn’t keep contact.”

Sangwoo grumbled at your words, fingers curling into you.

“I- ah- had to find out how you-shit- were through your mother.”

He was moving at a rapid speed, his motions making the air leave your chest.

“Gi hun was all over you.”

“What?”

The words caught you off guard. Here you were,in his apartment, with his fingers inside you. And he was talking about Gi hun.

“In the games. He was all over you.”

“He was excited to see me. Unlike some people.”

Sang-woo stilled his movements at your words, making you whine.

“Why’d you stop?”

“You’re mine.”

“What are-”

“Say it.”

You looked up at Sang-woo with wide eyes. The pathetic puppy dong you’d found when you walked in was completely gone. Sang-woo was back and he knew exactly what he could do to you. Your walls clenched around his fingers as he waited for you to say what he wanted.

“I’m yours.”

Sang-woo's neck twitched at your breathy voice. He crashed his lips onto yours, fingers moving inside you once again. Your moans became more and more high pitched. You were so close, your eyes began to roll back into your head, mouth becoming slack. Just as you were about to tell Sang-woo you were going to cum he removed himself from you completely. You wanted to yell at him. He'd brought you to the brink only to rip it away at the last second.

You moved forward, fully prepared to hit him but you stilled when your gaze fell to his boxers. He was incredibly hard. There was a small stain on the fabric you assumed was pre cum. You watched him place his fingers on the edge of his boxers, thighs rubbing together in anticipation. In one smooth movement he tugged his boxers down, his dick slapping proudly against his stomach as he removed it from its continents. Sang-woo hissed at the feeling of the cold air on his dick. You stared at him without a twinge of shame.

“Take your bra off.”

You didn’t even question it, immediately moving to unclasp the garment. Sang-woo made his way back to you, his hand moving to caress your breasts. You whined as he kissed your neck.

“Sang-woo please…”

“What is it, hum?”

“I need you inside me. Please fuck me.”

You could feel him smirk against your skin. This cocky bastard. You grabbed at his dick causing him to let out a moan. His head snapped up to look at you.

“I’m starting to lose my patience, Sang-woo.”

The look he gave you was comical. He was always in control but he’d forgotten just who he was dealing with.

“Either you fuck me right now or i’m leaving you to deal with this alone.”

“Oh yeah? And what about you huh? Gonna deal with this yourself.”

He grabbed at your cunt and you keened.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m sure Gi hun would love to help.”

A growl left Sang woo's lips. In a blink of an eye he’d dragged your underwear down, his hands pushing you against the wall as he inserted himself in you. He didn’t give you a moment to breathe, his dick beginning to bully into you. All you could do was whine as his dick rammed into your pussy. You grabbed onto him, legs moving to wrap around his waist.

“Think Gi hun could fuck you like this? Think he could even compare to me? Answer me!”

“No! Sang-woo only you can fuck me like this. Please!”

“Good girl. You gonna cum? Gonna cream all over my cock?”

You were a babbling mess, your head nodding eagerly as your orgasm approached. You half expected Sang-woo to pull away again. It’s not that he didn't think of punishing you, the idea did cross his mind but the feeling of you wrapped around him was far too irresistible. And then if it couldn’t get any better you came. A shrill screech of his name made its way out of your lips as your juices counted his dick. Your body sagged into his, head resting on the crock of his neck. His hands moved to grab at your ass, allowing his thrusts to quicken. You whined into his neck, a slight feeling of overstimulation beginning to come over you. Sang-woo gave one last harsh thrust before his body stopped moving. You felt his side spill into you, coating your walls with ease.

You removed your legs from his waist slowly. Sang-woo continued to pant, trying to recover from his orgasm. You pushed some hair off his face. He looked at you, his eyes full of an unexpected tenderness.

“Don’t leave me again.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Sang Woo. I’m right here.”

As if to prove your point you placed a loving kiss to his lips, forehead resting against his as silence filled the room.

#smut #smut fanfiction #smut tag #squid game fanfic #squid game x reader #squid game 2 #sang woo #cho sang woo #sangwoo squid game #cho sangwoo smut #sangwoo x gihun #player 218 #gi hun x reader #seong gi hun

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